


Hand Me My Shovel, I'm Going In!

by Doodlelupin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (he mentions throwing up once or twice but nothing graphic), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Ending, Bisexual Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Canon-Typical The Stranger Content (The Magnus Archives), Coma, Comatose Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Depression, Eating Disorders, Emetophobia, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hospitals, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, If you wanna read it that way, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has ADHD, M/M, Mentioned Danny Stoker, Mentioned Martin Blackwood's Mother, Minor Sasha James/Tim Stoker, Nightmares, Parent Death, Suicidal Thoughts, Tim Stoker Angst (The Magnus Archives), Tim Stoker Has ADHD (The Magnus Archives), Tim Stoker Lives (The Magnus Archives), Tim Stoker Needs a Hug (The Magnus Archives), Trans Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Wakes & Funerals, a bit?, its very largely comprised of tim mentally spiralling, not in this chapter but later on, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:27:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29233008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doodlelupin/pseuds/Doodlelupin
Summary: “I was going to get lunch in a few, you could come with if you want.” Sasha suggested. Tim felt a flood of panic rush through his body. He kept his face neutral.“Nah, I’m alright. Though if you wanted to bring me back a tea I wouldn’t object.” He said as casually as he could.“Are you sure?” Sasha asked. She looked suspicious.“Yeah, I packed something to eat.” He nodded. She didn’t have to know it was a granola bar. Or that he wasn’t going to eat it.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker
Comments: 18
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILER ALERT: i get the feeling this one i wont be able to put a nice spin on. its gonna end sad at best. if youre not up for it, check out my fluff instead <3

Tim moved the ring from finger to finger, only half paying attention to what he was doing. Internally, he noted how it fit each finger. Very loose on his pinkie. Almost perfect fit on his ring finger. Tight on his middle, though it still slipped on and off without too much effort. Slightly looser on his index, though still not comfortable. Just barely slips over the knuckle of his thumb. He repeated with his right hand, receiving the same results. He went back to the left, then the right, then the left again, rinse and repeat until the meeting was over.

“-Tim?”

“Uh- sorry, boss! Didn’t catch that.” The room came back into focus. Jon had asked him something. Jon sighed and rolled his eyes, repeating himself slowly.

“I asked if you would have the follow-up done by the end of the week.”

“Oh! Yes, just have to make a few more calls. End of the week should be fine.”

“Good. That’s all then.” Jon waved, dismissing them from his office.

“Lost in Jon’s eyes, were you, Tim?” Sasha teased as they left the room. He forced a chuckle.

“How could I not be?” He smiled at her, quirking an eyebrow defiantly. She laughed and shrugged. He had to play along so she wouldn’t ask him if something was wrong.

“Fair enough. Martin knows the feeling, don’t you, Martin?” They both turned to look at Martin, who was walking behind them. He was turning beet red.

“Wh-I-I don’t-” He spluttered to the sound of more laughter.

“Mhm, sure, Mart. Whatever you say.” Tim nodded.

“Course not.” Sasha mocked. They reached their desks, Tim and Sasha flopping into their chairs.

“I’m gonna make tea.” Martin said, pushing past them towards the breakroom.

“Making a special one for Jon?” Tim asked in a singsong voice.

“Well, I’m certainly not making one for you!” he replied, not bothering to turn around.

“What about me?” Sasha asked innocently.

“You started it!” He stuck his tongue out at them as he stepped into the breakroom and out of sight.

“Guess we’ll have to make our own.” Tim sighed.

“I was going to get lunch in a few, you could come with if you want.” Sasha suggested. Tim felt a flood of panic rush through his body. He kept his face neutral.

“Nah, I’m alright. Though if you wanted to bring me back a tea I wouldn’t object.” He said as casually as he could.

“Are you sure?” Sasha asked. She looked suspicious.

“Yeah, I packed something to eat.” He nodded. She didn’t have to know it was a granola bar. Or that he wasn’t going to eat it.

“Alright.” She shrugged. He breathed a silent sigh of relief, twisting the ring around his finger to stim out some of his nervous energy.

Sasha finished up the bit of follow-up she had been working on prior to the meeting and left for lunch. Martin did, in fact, make Jon tea. Tim wasn’t in the mood to tease him about it so he stared more intently at his screen as Martin walked by, pretending not to notice. He waited a few minutes after Martin had returned to his desk to head into the break room. He didn’t really want to take a break, but he  _ did _ want to have Martin back him up if Sasha asked if he’d actually eaten. He could just say he ate in the break room.

He sat on one of the chairs closest to the bin so he could pretend he’d just tossed his wrappers out if someone came in. He slipped his ring off his finger and began to fidget with it again. Pinkie. Ring. Middle. Index. Thumb. Index. Middle. Over and over.

As soon as soon as he’d put the ring on the first time he knew it was going to be dangerous. Sasha had bought it for him for their First Annual Archives Holiday Party. It was a spinner ring, with a band inset that spun separate from the rest of the ring. He had a bad habit of fidgeting with anything he could get his hands on and had flung his pen across the office more times than he’d like to admit. Sasha had hoped having a fidget toy on his hand would make accidents like  _ that _ less common.

And it had! He loved the ring, wore it everyday. He had never been good at remembering to wear jewelry; sometimes it made him dysphoric, other times he fully forgot jewelry was an option until he was out the door. The only jewelry he consistently wore were his earrings, and only because he could just leave them in. If he took them out every night he would definitely forget them too. 

But the ring was different. He was constantly reaching for it to fidget with, so he always noticed when he wasn’t wearing it. Which was a blessing and a curse. It was very good for stimming, leading to less flung pens (though he had launched the ring once or twice), but it also made him conscious of his weight. Well, more conscious.

He had always had a bit of a struggle with accepting his weight. He wasn’t even overweight, he was probably about average for his height. And though, of course, it wouldn’t have been a bad thing if he  _ was _ overweight, the fact that he wasn’t made him feel… selfish, somehow? Like at least if he  _ was _ overweight he could feel justified at least that society’s brainwashing had worked to make him hate his body because it didn’t fit it’s ideals. But his body  _ did _ fit society’s ideals. So he hated himself, and then hated himself  _ for _ hating himself.

When Danny died, though, something in him had snapped. He had never had an easy time making food, what with his ADHD and all, but grief drove it to a whole different level. He almost stopped eating entirely, at some points only consuming what was handed to him. And he lived on his own, so those opportunities were few and far between. The pit in his stomach was always there anyway, so what did it matter? He could never tell what the gnawing ache was trying to tell him he was lacking. And after a while the ache faded to a numb emptiness most of the time anyway.

So he barely ate. But he barely lost weight, either. When he did eat, he tended to binge whatever was on hand. And it was rarely healthy; those foods were always too much effort. But he could grab a bag of crisps and open it and tah dah! Food was ready. Or a microwave dinner. Or macaroni. Or take away. And once he started he found it very hard to stop. His body thought they were going through a famine, so it pushed him to eat and eat until he couldn’t eat anymore (though that quantity started to shrink as he ate less and less often, his stomach shrinking to accommodate). So although he ate sporadically, he rarely saw the effects.

He felt them, though. He was often freezing cold, shaky, lightheaded, and dizzy. Felt nauseous from lack of food (ironic, that). His ADHD seemed twice as bad, focus and sleep nearly impossible. 

At some point, the grief had faded. A year passed, then two, and he learned to live with it. Every so often he was hit with a wave of it so strong it was as if it had happened yesterday. When that happened he called in sick and just slept and cried, barely leaving his bed unless it was absolutely necessary. On one such occasion, Sasha and Jon had come by with soup. It was the first thing he’d eaten in days. They didn’t pry, even though it was obvious he wasn’t really sick. They just sat with him, Jon quietly cleaning his flat while Sasha rambled at him about whatever was on her mind. She had made it clear she didn’t expect him to answer or even listen, she just thought he needed some semblance of conversation. And she was right. He needed to focus on anything else right now and the hot office gossip was a perfect distraction. She even managed to squeeze a few chuckles out of him.

After that, whenever he called into work Sasha would text him an emoji with a sick face and a question mark, to which he could reply either a vomiting emoji or a brain emoji. Either way she’d bring soup and Jon. If he was actually sick she would bring medicine and Gatorade as well. He was incredibly glad he had such caring friends. 

Unfortunately, that didn’t stop him from trying to hide things from them. Physical illness was one thing. Mental illness was a whole different story.

Grief at least felt...more valid, somehow. He had a reason. It was normal. Natural. And even then he barely said more than he had to. Sasha had a vague idea that something had happened to his brother, but she didn’t know any of the details. 

The whole...eating disorder? Could he call it an eating disorder? He still  _ ate _ , and he never made himself throw up (though he had thought about it). It felt insensitive to call it that. Surely if it was an  _ actual _ eating disorder he would be able to stick to it longer. He’d never been able to stick to a routine, and this was no exception. At some point he would either decide that he was tired of the stomach ache, that his quality of work was slipping too much, or that he was simply seeing his friends too much to be able to adequately starve himself anyway and just give up, returning to a relatively normal diet.

But just as fickle as his ability to maintain his...poor eating habits was his ability to maintain his  _ good _ eating habits. Anything could set him off; hearing about a diet, getting hungry for too long, lacking control in his life...

That was the main thing. The sense of control. He couldn’t do anything about his brother. He felt incapable of maintaining a proper relationship with anyone, despite their arguments to the contrary (he’d almost lost Sasha after that ill-advised hookup). He often felt helpless in his job, subject to whatever ridiculous deadlines or requests his boss insisted on.

The one thing he could control was his eating habits. (For the most part. Impulsivity was horrendous.) And it was literally infinitely easier to  _ not _ eat than it was to eat. All he had to do was...nothing. Eating required figuring out what to make, making sure he had the ingredients and knew how to do it, then physically making and eating the thing-that alone often made him lose his appetite. But he could easily sit and waste away with literally no effort.

And if he was feeling ambitious, he could try to work off the calories he  _ had _ taken in when he had given in to an impulse or had been forced to eat to maintain appearances around his friends. He usually exercised anyway, but he’d throw in some extra reps if he was feeling particularly guilty.

Even with all this, his weight only fluctuated by maybe one stone or so. He could never keep it up long enough to make a serious difference. Which, in the end, was probably a good thing. But when he was at his lowest, it just made him feel incompetent. He couldn’t even get  _ this _ right.

So here he was, sitting in the break room for plausible deniability, using a thoughtful gift from his friend as some twisted form of self-surveillance. He made himself sick. Well, not literally.  _ Don't even have the dedication for that _ . He thought to himself. He winced at the thought.  _ That _ was sick. Tim sighed and checked his phone. It had almost been long enough that he could’ve reasonably eaten lunch. He made himself a cup of tea while he waited. He smiled when he saw that Martin had boiled a whole kettle full of water.  _ Of course he did. What a sweetheart. _

He nearly dropped the mug when Sasha entered the break room.

“Taking 5?”

“Oh, hey-Yeah, just finished lunch. Thought I’d make myself some tea.” He said over his shoulder.

“What’d you have?”

“Sandwich.” He replied. Now he was lying. Before he had been telling the truth, just omitting enough to avoid questions. This was a proper lie. He felt awful. He kept his back to her.

“Oh? What kind?” She asked.

“It was a sandwich, Sash. Not exactly the most interesting subject. Where did you go?”

“The cafe. You didn’t answer my question.”

“Peanut butter and jam, alright? I didn’t have the energy to make anything else and I know no one in the Archives has an allergy so I thought it’d be fine.” He snapped.

“Hey, peanut butter and jam is a classic. Don’t have to defend yourself to me, I was just curious.” Sasha stepped up to the counter under the guise of preparing her own tea, but Tim knew she was trying to get a look at his face. He sighed and looked over at her, giving her a tired smile.

“Sorry for snapping at you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I was prying.” She shrugged, pouring the water into her mug. She smiled back at him when she put the kettle down. 

“Better get back to work then, Stoker.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He laughed, giving her a little salute on his way out of the breakroom.

He felt...numb? He half wished she had called his bluff, maybe even brought him back something from the cafe. He thought he might be hungry. He couldn’t really tell anymore.

But she hadn’t. And that was...that was fine. It wasn’t her job to take care of him. He could do it himself. He’d eat dinner when he got home. Probably.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mourning, spiraling, and an argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time skip. takes place season 3 (obviouslyyy)

He had lost Sasha. He had lost her and not even known she’d been replaced. He failed Sasha. He failed Danny. Jon didn’t trust him anymore. Martin was (rightfully) pissed at him. And he was stuck here. He couldn’t leave the Institute no matter how hard he tried. The  _ only _ thing keeping him around was the prospect of getting a bit of revenge for Danny and Sasha, utterly destroying the things that had taken them. Killed them. He hoped. 

He could sometimes let himself believe they both had died quickly, but he knew what those things wanted. They probably dragged it out, sucked as much fear from them as they could. And only once they had drained all the horror from their bodies would they finally grant them the sweet release of death. If they were so lucky. Sasha, he figured, was probably granted that mercy at least. Danny...well, he had read up on what the Circus did to people. He was almost certain they had skinned him to make him one of their dancers. He could only pray that if Danny wasn’t dead when they started skinning him that he was by the time they had finished. That he wasn’t still conscious while being...worn.

He knew he couldn’t leave the Institute. He tried getting as far away as possible, but he just got sick. He knew he would’ve died if he stayed away. He still regretted coming back. He should’ve stayed there and wasted away. At least he would be free of this place. Even if it could only come through death, it’d be worth it.

But he had to cling to his anger. To his need for revenge. That was the only force driving him at this point. He had no other reason to live at this point. Well, almost…

He did have a morbid curiosity in how far he could push his body. He knew he was going to die at some point; everyone did. He would probably die sooner than most by the sheer nature of his job. Even if his job didn’t take him out, if he got his revenge? He didn’t think he would see any need to stick around and wait for death to come on its own.

He had already tested his luck. He was reckless. He had asked Elias to kill him on multiple occasions. He took less caution when investigating the few times he did do his job these days (and even then, he refused to look into anything that wasn’t related to the Circus). And...he had stopped eating. Pretty much all together. He would eat something small every few days, hating himself with every bite. He was only doing it out of sheer necessity, and he’d make sure to burn off as many calories as he could right after.

He wanted to see how far it would go. It was a little experiment. It was a punishment. It was an act of control. It was a perverted last attempt at life. By killing himself.

The only thing he could cling to was the curiosity of what would happen. (Feeding the Eye, even in this? Almost laughably cruel.) How thin could he get? Would he ever get bad enough to pass out? How little could he eat? How long would it take someone to notice? How much longer would it take someone to say something about it?

He wanted to finally feel justified in saying he had a problem. Obviously he had plenty of  _ problems _ , but this little…habit of his wasn’t enough to qualify as an actual eating disorder. Maybe if he got bad enough he could accept that it  _ was _ a problem. Maybe then he’d feel like he was worthy of help.

He had felt a rush of nausea and pride when his ring started falling off of his thumb. He had to put it on a chain around his neck. It was a trophy, a testament to his work (and of course a memorial to Sasha). 

Sometimes he felt guilty. Like he was failing Sasha. She would be so disappointed in him. She would hate herself if she knew what he had used the ring for. She would feel awful for not being able to help. But she was dead. She couldn’t actually feel anything, anyway. And at this point? Neither could he.

* * *

What the  _ fuck _ was he doing here? Tim almost slammed the door in his face but he needed his jacket and Jon was standing in the way.

“What the fuck do you want?” He said. He didn’t care anymore. He was so tired of everything. He barely even felt the rage flowing through his veins anymore; it was rarely more than a simmer. And it was the only thing keeping him on his feet.

“Look, Tim. I...I-I know what I did was-” He started.

“Unforgivable.”

“Yes. It was. I’m so,  _ so _ sorry and I know a million apologies won’t make up for it and I don't expect you to forgive me. I- I get it....”

“Do you? Do you get it, Jon? You accused me of  _ murder _ . Not just murder, but you honestly thought I was so dangerous you had to  _ stalk _ me? When you were just about the  _ only _ one who knew what I had just been through, when you were really the only person- because Sasha…” Sasha’s name had come out as a sob. He was furious at himself for crying. He wasn’t sure he was going to leave this room without putting a hole in one of the walls.

“No, you’re right.” Jon said softly. “I-I don’t really get it. I...I can't imagine what that was like and I...I am so... _ ashamed _ that I would do that to you. I really am. I only meant that….I understand the desire to isolate yourself. To rely on no one so they can't be snatched away from you, to trust no one so they can’t betray you, to push people away so you can’t fail them again…” Jon trailed off, his lip wavering as a silent stream of tears rolled down his cheeks. At least Tim wasn’t the only one crying.

“I don’t deserve forgiveness, I know. I'm not asking for it. I can’t make it up to you. I’ll regret what I did for the rest of my life, I can promise you that much. I just….I’m so  _ worried _ about you, Tim. You look… awful.”

“Thanks.” Tim said dryly.

“You  _ know _ what I mean, Tim. Don't try to deflect. When was the last time you ate?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“That’s why I’m worried. You’re looking too much like me. That’s never a good sign.” They both laughed bitterly. 

“Well, you’re right about that at least.” Tim didn’t like the sense of camaraderie. Teasing Jon felt...too familiar. It was too easy to slip back into it.

“Can I make you dinner? Or buy you dinner? Please?”

“If you’re trying to get back in my good books-”

“I’m not. I don’t even have to be there, I can order you takeaway to your flat. I just… I can't watch you do this to yourself. You can’t live like this, Tim.”

“I’m not trying to.”

They both knew it but saying it aloud made it somehow more real. They watched each other silently. Tim couldn’t muster up the energy to regret saying it.

“This... Is this what Sasha-”

“Don't.” Tim spat. Jon winced.

“I…” Jon looked lost for words. And so,  _ so _ tired. “I know that nothing I’ve done recently has shown it but I  _ care _ about you, Tim. And maybe I’m being selfish. Maybe I’m trying to help you because I wish to God someone would help me. Maybe I’m just trying to feel better about all the people I’ve failed. But you know what? Fuck it. I fucking- I need you to be okay, Tim.”

“That’s not up to you.”

“I...I know!” Jon yelled. He sighed. “I know.” He repeated, much softer. “Christ, Tim. Am I supposed to just watch you kill yourself?”

“Yes.”

They watched each other, waiting to see who would talk first.

“Why?” Jon broke the silence at last.

“What the fuck do you mean,  _ why _ ?” Tim laughed humourlessly.

“Just what I said.  _ Why _ do you want to die so badly?”

“Because what’s the point? It’s gonna happen anyway. I’m just waiting for worse and worse things to happen to me in between now and then. Might as well go on my own terms.”

“That’s…” Jon shook his head, floundering for words.

“Can’t think of an argument? Neither can I.”

“Fine.” Jon nodded. “Fine. Throw yourself headfirst at the Circus. That’s… If you have to do that, then I’ll respect your decision. But if you think we’re going to drag your emaciated ass into that building, you’re wrong.” Jon was  _ angry _ . “You are going to walk in there on your own, fully capable of destroying them like they deserve. If you insist on going out, you’re going out in a blaze of glory. You’re gonna die? Fine. I can’t stop you. But I can make damn sure you’re going to be ready for it. And this?” Jon gestured at Tim. “This isn’t going to cut it.”

“I’m bringing you food from now on and you’re either going to eat it or you will bring your own. You’re going to sleep regularly. You don't have to do any work around here, but I won’t hide anything from you either. If you want me to send you every statement even vaguely related to the Stranger, I will. If you want me to leave your meals on your desk and never speak to you again, that’s fine too. But you’re  _ not _ just going to waste away like this.”

Tim didn’t have the energy to argue. Was this a selfish ploy for Jon to prove to himself that he could help someone? Obviously. But he also had to admit he was in no shape to fight the Stranger. He didn’t plan on coming back from the Unknowing, but he had to at least make it there. And half of the trouble with food was making it. If he had it all there and ready, he thought he might be able to stomach it.

“Fine.” He said quietly.

“W-what?” Jon asked, shocked.

“I said fine.” He repeated. He pushed past Jon and grabbed his jacket, pulling it on.

“Take me to dinner. I don’t care where, I don't care what. But I don't want to hear a word from you.”

“O-Okay!” Jon replied eagerly. Tim glared at him. He gasped in realization and made a motion as if zipping his mouth shut. Tim rolled his eyes and stomped out of the Institute, knowing Jon was following behind him. At least this time he had permission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this might be the end. i might add more if i feel so inspired. its as much of a mystery to you as it is to me. if youre reading this, go make yourself smth to eat <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim's been doing alright! Until he isn't. And then he really isn't.

Tim still wasn’t really...talking to Jon. They could exist together in silence sometimes when he was in the breakroom, or when they were both looking for a file at the same time. He could tolerate that now, at least. Didn’t feel like he was going to explode at any given moment.

He was honestly surprised at Jon; didn’t know he could shut up for that long. Alright, fine, that wasn’t fair. He appreciated that Jon wasn’t pushing it. He knew Jon was probably trying to not-so-subtly allow Tim to warm up to him a bit before trying conversation again, and...honestly? Tim wasn’t averse to the idea.

Obviously he wasn’t going to forgive him. He couldn’t. But… they could make peace. He didn’t owe it to Jon, but he did think he might owe it to himself. As much as he hated to admit it, he really did miss Jon. He missed everyone. It was hard to know how to…  _ be _ anymore. When you know you’re going to die soon...how can you inflict your friendship on someone? Willingly subject them to the mourning that’s been destroying you, that sent you down this path in the first place? It seemed cruel.

But on the other hand, it wasn’t as if Jon was getting out of this situation any time soon, except through the same means. So it was a fair trade.

After a few weeks of wordlessly trading a full container of food for an empty one every morning, Tim finally spoke.

“Do you want to get coffee?”

“Uh-I- Yeah! Yeah, alright!” Jon replied, taken aback by the offer. “Let me just drop my bag in my office.” He pointed behind him, already stepping away from Tim’s desk. Tim nodded. When Jon returned, Tim got to his feet and pulled on his jacket. He shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking without acknowledging Jon. He could hear him walking behind him, though. It was going to be a bit tough to break this habit. When they got into the hallway, he slowed his pace and fell into stride beside Jon. After a moment he forced out the words he’d been repeating in his head.

“I meant what I said. About not being able to forgive you.” He kept his eyes trained on the floor.

“I...I know.” Tim could see Jon nod out of the corner of his eye. 

“But…” Tim sighed. “I… Can we pretend? A bit, anyway? It can’t be normal.  _ I _ can't be normal. But we can at least...we can talk. A bit.”

“Yeah. Yeah, Tim-I-I’d love that.” Jon breathed.

“You’ve gotta take it slow, though. How about once a week I treat you to lunch?”

“That sounds perfect.” Tim could hear Jon’s grin.

* * *

So they had coffee. Chatted a little. And it was nice, it really was. And then they had lunch on Friday, just down at the cafe. That was nice too. So they made it a habit; every Monday they’d get coffee and every Friday they’d get lunch. And Tim was...getting better. Maybe. He could never really be sure but he did have an appetite again, at least. He had even begun to make food again. The first time he made himself dinner he texted Jon to let him know he was going to eat the dinner he’d made for lunch the next day, and then that, too, became a habit. Jon still brought him lunch and they’d eat together in the break room, but Tim made his own dinner. 

And it was really nice while it lasted. But inevitably, Tim got hungry again. And cruelly, that little voice in the back of his head took that as a sign. _ If you just wait a few hours you won't feel it anymore  _ and  _ Jon’s gonna bring you lunch tomorrow anyway _ and  _ you don't really need energy to play video games and sleep, so why don't you wait to eat until you’ll actually use the calories? _ The first time he managed to work up the willpower to make himself dinner anyway, but the second time he wasn’t so lucky.

So he dropped back down to two meals a day. Whatever. Not the end of the world. The ring still wasn’t falling off his hand anymore, so it wasn’t a big deal. And when Jon had asked him if he’d bring in tea on the way in to work one day (since he had to walk by a coffee shop to get to the Institute anyway) and to pick himself up something to eat too, well, he simply couldn’t find anything that looked appetizing. What Jon didn’t know wouldn’t kill him.

And just like that he was back down to one. He wasn’t going to try to talk Jon out of the last one too. He had to keep up appearances and, honestly? He was surprised at how good Jon was at cooking. He was getting leftovers from his dinner half the time but  _ damn _ that man had some skills in the kitchen. So he would let himself indulge. And if he happened to walk home more often then he took the tube lately? Well, he would simply chalk that up to attempting some healthy exercise. It definitely had no correlation with the portion sizes and raio of “safe” to “unsafe” food. Definitely.

He had taken to wearing a hoodie to work every day. He liked the irritation on Elias’ face at his “improper work attire”, especially since Elias knew if he said anything Tim would make it so much worse. He liked how much it hid his body. And he was so  _ cold _ . All the time. If he could wear gloves without giving himself away, he would. He could barely feel his fingertips on a good day. And he was shivering far more than he’d like to admit. That was the worst part of this whole situation, really. At least Martin’s tea helped a bit.

* * *

“Thanks.” Tim said as he reached for today’s lunch. Their hands brushed.

“ _ Christ _ , Tim! Why are your hands so cold?” Jon hissed.

“I- the office is cold? What do you want me to say?” He laughed in a way he hoped came across as nonchalant. From Jon’s expression, he wasn’t so sure it had.

“What?” He asked. He really hoped he didn’t sound too defensive.

“What’d you have for breakfast, Tim?”

“W-What?”

“ _ What did you have for breakfast _ ?” Jon asked.

“Nothing. I looked at a muffin but it had too many calories so I skipped it, like usual.” Tim slapped his hands over his mouth. Jon looked like he’d been shot.

“Tim, I- oh, no, I- I didn’t mean to-” He stammered. Tim didn’t wait for him to pull another response from him, he just shoved the container towards him and stormed off. He didn’t know where he was going, but he needed to get  _ out _ .

“Fuck.” He whispered under his breath. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck.” He balled his hands into fists in his pockets. He stomped up the stairs. The Institute had elevators but he hadn’t taken them since...He didn’t know if he’d ever taken them. Only when with other people. If he was on his own, well, he could use the exercise. And right now? He needed to run up the stairs or the institute was going to have a new window.

So he ran up all the way to the top. Then back down. Then back up. He only saw one person, but luckily they didn’t stare for too long and was gone when he passed by the next time. His legs ached. His lungs burned. He could taste blood. But he kept running. He pulled himself up by the railings, launched himself down half a flight at a time, moving and moving and moving until he wasn’t. Not by choice. 

He came around the turn too fast, twisted too far and missed a step. And he came down  _ hard _ . He thought he must’ve hit every step on the way down, and unfortunately the concrete fire route stairs weren’t as forgiving as drywall would’ve been. He was definitely bleeding. He was definitely bruised. He couldn’t tell if he’d broken anything; it all  _ hurt. _ At least he couldn’t feel his stomachache anymore. He almost could’ve laughed if he thought it wouldn’t have shifted his rib out of place. He was pretty sure he was in shock. He was also pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to stand. He wasn’t certain what floor he was on, maybe near the Archives? Did it really matter, though? Barely anyone used the stairs. He’d be lucky if the janitor found him while cleaning up for the night. And he’d left his phone in his bag. In the break room. Great. He groaned.

He stared at the buzzing, flickering, fluorescent light glaring down into his eyes. The rest of the Institute at least held some facsimile of decorum, even if it was all outdated. But the stairwell looked like it could be in any old parking garage. Cinder block walls, completely bare aside from a layer of white paint. Horrible, headache inducing lights (funny, as if he needed his head to hurt  _ worse _ ) concrete steps and a plain metal railing they hadn't even bothered to paint.

Here. Was this where Tim was going to bleed out? After everything? Perhaps he was being melodramatic. He didn’t think he was bleeding that much, but he hadn’t eaten a lot lately and he was fairly certain he was fading in and out of consciousness. Oh yeah, and  _ no one used the stairs. _ He wasn’t getting out of here without help but he wasn’t sure help was coming. He didn’t have the breath to yell for it.

Ridiculous. He survived worms. A whole worm woman. He made his way out of a maze dimension. He escaped a creepy clown..mannequin...thing. This whole stupid Institute. Everything he’d done to himself. And a  _ stairwell _ was what was going to do him in. He did laugh this time, which turned abruptly to a yelp of pain. Something in his chest had  _ crunched _ . It definitely wasn’t supposed to make that noise. He tried his hardest to breath without moving his chest too much but every breath sent a jolt of pain through his chest. He closed his eyes against the harsh lights and just hoped he’d pass out soon.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying there when he started to hallucinate.

“Tim?” A voice called. It echoed in the stairwell. “Tim?” He moaned. He didn’t understand how a fake voice was giving him a headache. Or how a fake hand could hurt so much.

“Ow!” He yelped. He opened his eyes.  _ Jon _ ?

“Oh my god… Tim, you- I- One minute...” Jon muttered frantically, trying to take in all of Tim’s injuries. He pulled out his phone with shaking hands and dialed 999. Tim couldn’t hear it ring. “Fuck, are you kidding me? No reception?” Jon wrenched open the door nearest them

“Help!” He yelled. “Someone dial 999!” Tim couldn’t see through the doorway from where he was but he assumed someone had given him an affirmative because he was kneeling at his side once more.

“Tim. Are you...can you hear me?” Jon asked. It was that bad, huh? 

“Y-yeah.” He managed. It hurt just as much as he’d thought it would. 

“Alright. Okay. Someone will be here any minute.” Tim knew that wasn’t true. He knew they took their time getting to the Institute. He wasn’t sure how long it would take but at this point? He didn’t really care. He felt himself slipping away again.

“Tim!” Tim must’ve flinched. “Sorry, but Tim you have to stay with me, okay?” Tim opened his eyes reluctantly. “You’re going to be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” He muttered. Tim thought it was more to himself than to Tim. He didn’t care. He just wanted to sleep. His eyelids drooped. 

“Tim, please.” Jon whined. Tim blinked hard, trying to stay present.

“T-tell me...something.” He fought out.

“W-what?” Jon asked, looking anxious to fill Tim’s request.

“Story. Focus.” Tim hoped Jon could connect the dots. And it seemed he could.

“Um. Okay. One time, when I was eight, I did the same thing.” Jon laughed. He carefully took Tim’s hand. It hurt to shift his arm, but Tim needed the contact so he didn’t show it. “Well, I’m not sure how you...how this happened. But I did end up at the bottom of the stairs in a similar fashion. There’s this parking garage out by my old house and I was exploring a bit after dark, as I...tended to do.” Tim had heard about Jon’s childhood exploits a bit back when they were still on speaking terms, but he hadn’t heard this one before.

“So, anyway, my grandmother was one of those ‘you’ll grow into them’ kind of buyers so I rarely ever had clothes that fit properly and shoes were no exception and, if I remember correctly, I had just gotten new ones too so the issue was even worse. One minute I was at the top of the stairs and the next I was at the bottom, wondering how I’d ended up there so fast.” He chuckled. It quickly turned to a sob. He took a breath and bit his knuckle. He swiped at his tears with his free hand. Tim smiled weakly. Jon took that as encouragement to keep going.

“I scraped both knees, both elbows, broke my wrist and twisted my ankle. And I had a concussion and a couple dozen bruises. I was in a sorry state.” He shook his head, laughing. “But, uh- my grandmother wasn’t really one to worry about where I got to. So I knew she wasn’t going to come looking for me. So I just...I managed to crawl out of the parking garage-luckily I’d landed on the ground floor. And it was only a couple blocks back to my house so I just dragged myself back. I think I managed to hop a bit of the way but it was mainly crawling. Must’ve looked pretty pathetic,” Jon laughed, as if he hadn’t just told Tim something completely horrific.  
“Best part? That was just after my grandmother had started getting fed up with my ridiculous behaviour so she locked me out of the house. I had to sit on the porch and decide whether it was worth waking her up and facing her wrath or not. My wrist was throbbing though, so I figured I’d knock. The look on her face when she opened the door...well she didn’t get mad, at least. Took me to A&E without saying a single word. Did get berated later, though. Fair. I shouldn’t have been running around like that to begin with.” Jon shrugged.

Tim would’ve been speechless even if he _ could  _ talk. Instead he simply frowned. Jon noticed.

“Are you okay? Well, I mean- like- obviously you’re not- is something worse? Is there something I can do?” Tim shook his head slowly. Jon nodded. “Okay. Alright. They should be here any minute. Just stay with me.”

They sat in silence, aside from Tim’s ragged breathing, until the paramedics came. Tim didn’t remember much after that. Just flashes. The inside of the ambulance. The hospital lights. A handsome nurse? Jon crying by his bedside. Jon sleeping in a chair. Jon sitting at his bedside. Martin at his bedside. Jon at his bedside. Jon and Martin at his bedside. Jon at his bedside. 

When he finally came round properly, Jon was dozing in the chair by the window. Tim groaned softly. He was pretty sure he was on a lot of painkillers, so he wasn’t sure he really hurt? But he definitely felt odd. Jon blinked his eyes open. He glanced over at Tim and his eyes snapped awake. He darted over.

“Tim!” He gasped, his relief almost knocking the wind out of Tim.

“Easy there, boss.” He croaked. Geez, how long had it been? Jon was trying to hide the fact that he was crying again.

“It’s good to see you awake.” He sniffled.

“Good to be awake, I guess-water?” He asked. His throat felt incredibly dry. And sore. Jon passed him a cup, helping him to hold it to his lips. 

“How are you feeling?” Jon asked after he’d had a sip.

“Not..feeling a whole lot of anything. I assume I’m on some drugs.” Tim replied. Jon laughed. He seemed almost giddy with relief. Was it that bad?

“Yes, quite a bit.”

“Love that for me.” He sighed. “How long was I out for?”

“A few days.”

“A few days?” Tim gaped. He thought it’d been overnight, at most.

“Yeah, you have a pretty bad concussion. Amidst...all the rest of the injuries. Broke a couple ribs, fractured your ankle and your arm...How did you even manage that?”

“I was, uh...I was going too fast down the steps, I guess.” 

“You guess? You look like you were hit by a truck.”

“So I was running.”

“Was it...was it because I…”

“Yes.” Tim replied bluntly. The look on Jon’s face was too much for Tim to stand. He sighed. “No. Not...not entirely. It’s all just a lot, alright?”

“The job?”

“I mean, obviously. But… relapsing? I guess? If you can call it that.” He muttered under his breath.

“I’m...I’m guessing you stopped making your own dinner, too.” Jon sighed. Tim nodded slowly. He was ready for Jon to yell at him again.

“I should’ve been more careful.” He sighed instead.

“Wh-what?”

“I keep forgetting I can compel people like that. I’m really sorry, Tim.”

“It’s, uh..It’s okay.” Tim was confused. Why was he being so chill about this?

“It isn’t. I’m going to work on it. I promise.”

“Okay…” Tim stared at him.

“What...Is something...hm. I am assuming something is wrong.” Jon said, clearly trying not to phrase it as a question. Tim laughed at how stilted it sounded.

“Not wrong, just…”

“Wh- You can tell me, if you want.”

“I was expecting you to yell at me?” 

“Yell at you?”

“I mean. What I did was really stupid-”

“Relapsing or launching yourself down a staircase?”

“...both?”

“Alright, well I’d have to agree with you on the staircase one. Relapsing, though...That’s just a part of recovery. It’s an addiction. You’re going to have ups and downs, that’s unfortunately just how it works. It doesn’t make you stupid. It makes you human.” Tim wasn’t entirely sure if Jon was speaking more to Tim or to himself, but he appreciated the words regardless.

“Yeah.” He said softly. He didn’t really know how to respond. Jon patted his good leg.

“I’m going to get your nurse.” He waited for Tim to give him a nod of approval before he left. So much for being in good shape for the Unknowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it seems i did have another chapter in me lmao...maybe another one? we'll have to see. you'll have to forgive any inaccuracies, i have never broken a bone, had a concussion, fallen down stairs nor been in the hospital for longer than a quick er trip since i was 3 (and suffice it to say i...dont remember that lol) might add another if i wanna. make this a whole "tim was too beat up to be there for the unknowing" au. or maybe not. who knows.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim's working on getting back on his feet and, as always, Jon's here to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ok i didn't make it clear at the beginning of the chapter but they're in Tim's flat <3)

“You’re healing right now. You need your strength. If you’re worried about calories, I’m sure they’re all going to repair work right now.” Jon had said as he watched Tim pick at the dinner he’d made.

“I  _ know. _ ” Tim glowered. He sighed. “Sorry. I...I know, I just...it’s still hard. Logic doesn’t really apply here.”

Jon nodded sympathetically, taking a bite as he thought of a reply.

“Would it be easier if we spread it out more?” He asked.  _ We _ . Tim couldn’t decide how to feel about that. We. Like they were a team. Like Tim was too weak to be trusted with his own health. Like Jon cared enough to step up and help him through it.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, apparently three big meals a day aren’t actually ideal for humans, it’s recommended to have four to six smaller meals to keep your blood sugar levels more even through the day. I could split the food up into smaller portions, which would probably be easier to stomach anyway. You would have to eat once or twice more times a day, though.”

Tim hummed in thought. It might help. He had lost his appetite more than once looking at the portion sizes Jon had set for him, even whilst knowing Jon was probably trying to hold back. He thought he might be able to do it.

“Yeah, that might work.” He said slowly. “I’m game to give it a try, anyway.”

“Alright, I’ll start splitting things up accordingly. But...Tim? You’ll tell me if you can’t, right?”

Tim looked at Jon. He looked concerned, an expression Tim was hoping to have gotten used to by now. Unfortunately, he hadn’t. It still hurt to think that he might end up letting Jon down again. 

What was a worse let down? Hearing Tim was relapsing, or finding out he was lying about being okay? Tim didn’t know which choice was better. If he wanted to cling to the tiny threads of trust they’d managed to retain after everything they’d done to each other...he couldn’t lie to Jon.

But sometimes he couldn’t help it.

“Tim?” Jon repeated, the worry seeping into his voice. Tim had forgotten he was there.

“Um. I...hang on.”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

“I  _ know! _ Just… just give me a minute.” Tim was panicking now. He closed his eyes and took some deep breaths. He needed an answer. He didn’t  _ want _ to lie to Jon, but he didn’t always have control. He made a decision.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. I’ll tell you if it’s too much… but only if you promise to respect it.”

“Of course.”

“I mean it. If I can’t do it, you… you’re not allowed to….make me?”

“If you can’t eat the number we decide on, we’ll take it down to one less and see if that’s better. I can’t make you do anything.”

“And if I can’t do that many either?” Tim asked.

Jon sighed.

“If you can’t do that many, we can keep going down. One is where I draw the line though. You have to eat  _ something _ .”

Tim nodded. He could deal with that.

“Okay.”

“Good.” Jon sighed, relieved. “Alright then. What number should we start with? I’m going to let you know right now it will be the same quantity of food, just divided differently.”

“Hm.” Tim tapped his fork against his lip. “Maybe...5?” He counted them out on his fingers. “ _ Before _ work, two  _ at _ work, one right after and then one between that and bed. That sound right?”

“Sounds good to me.” Jon nodded. “I can take my breaks with you if you want company while you eat.” Tim was glad for the offer. He wasn’t sure Jon knew that he tried to distract himself from what he was doing or was wanting to make sure he was actually eating (or both), but he appreciated it nonetheless.

“That’d be nice. Um…” He wanted to ask something but he wasn’t sure if he could.

“Hm?” Jon looked at him expectantly. Well. Here goes nothing.

“Could you… Could you eat on your breaks? I, um- I can’t…” Tim looked down at his food to avoid looking at Jon.

“You can’t eat without someone else eating?” Jon filled in the blanks. 

Tim nodded, keeping his eyes down.

“Yeah, that’s no problem. I’ll pack us the same thing. I’m...notoriously bad at remembering to eat, too. Probably not a bad thing to go on the same schedule. Actually, if I’m being honest, having to make food consistently for you has made me...a lot better about taking care of myself. So... thank you? Is it weird to thank you for something like this?” Jon laughed.

“It is.” Tim chuckled. “But you’re welcome. ADHD sure is a bitch, huh.”

“Cheers to that.” Jon nodded, raising his glass of water. Tim laughed and tapped his own glass against Jon’s.

* * *

He’d been back in his own flat for a few weeks now. For the first little bit, Jon had insisted on stopping by every day to make sure he had everything he needed. Tim really appreciated it. It was hard to get around with a fractured ankle  _ and _ a fractured arm. If Tim closed his eyes, he could pretend they were back in their Research days, Jon flitting about his flat to do what he could to help while Sasha provided emotional support. He’d talked Jon down to a couple times a week now that he could hobble around a bit.

Sometimes Martin stopped by, usually with some home baked goods and a lot of anxious rambling. Tim appreciated that, too. Well, the rambling, anyway. The food… It was good! Martin was as good at baking as he was at making tea, it wasn’t like it tasted bad or anything. It was just that...baked goods were mainly carbs. And despite everything, he still cared. And he couldn’t even exercise to work off the calories anymore, not with his broken ribs still healing.

So he insisted on Jon having some whenever he stopped by, something he hadn’t thought would work. Jon, however, mercifully accepted. He must’ve seen how worried Tim was. He wanted to eat it all, he really did. He just...couldn’t. But throwing it away would be so rude and so wasteful. So he managed what he could and Jon helped with the rest, though he did return to preparing him meals again as soon as he got out of the hospital. 

Thankfully, his meals were varied enough that he didn’t get  _ too  _ uncomfortable. He was managing to get down all of them, for the time being, even if it was difficult at times. Hopefully the smaller portions would help on that front.

The hospital was  _ tough _ in regards to food. He had to eat properly, for one thing, which was a bit of a jump from the one meal a day he’d become accustomed to. For another...one of the doctors had sat him down for a chat about his blood tests. Apparently they had caught signs of “malnourishment.” Thank _ god _ he’d waited for Jon to leave the room before bringing it up. Jon knew it was bad but he didn’t know how bad. Apparently Tim didn’t either. He was stuck in a mental loop of “this isn’t enough” and “you’re not bad enough to need help” and “it’s pathetic how much something so small is affecting you” that echoed on repeat. The doctor had, rather harshly, explained how much this was  _ not _ the case. It was an awkward conversation and didn’t help much, so he elected to pretend it hadn’t happened. And besides, Jon had got him eating properly again, for the time being.

He would be alright for now. As long as he didn’t think about how soon the Unknowing was.

* * *

Okay, he couldn’t  _ not _ . Thanks to his little spill, there was no way he would be able to help now. Maybe do a little bit with Martin’s end of the plan, be the distraction, that was all. It was eating him up inside. He just wanted to kill some bloody clowns, was that too much to ask?

Apparently. He’d just have to live vicariously through Jon, he supposed. He was half tempted to ask him to strap a GoPro to his head so he could watch.

He hadn’t realized how much Jon had helped him, though. Even despite his relapse, he was feeling leagues better than he had in years (mentally, anyway. Physically? He wasn’t sure he’d been worse). If this had happened before Jon’s little intervention… to put it bluntly, he probably would’ve offed himself in the hospital. It was unfortunate that this was a step up, but it was, dammit. And he was allowed to be proud of it. Being able to handle a major issue by making plans for the future was a lot for someone who hadn’t thought he would have a future to plan for. He couldn't tell anyone without them getting concerned, so it was a private victory.

But it was a victory nonetheless. Tim was proud of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently i will continue this lmao i have one or two more chapter ideas so.....


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realizations <3

They sat down to eat in the break room, their second meal together for the day. Their arrangement was working out pretty well so far. It had indeed proven to be easier to get down smaller meals, even if there were more of them. And the company was an added bonus.

Tim looked Jon up and down. He was looking good. Healthy. He hadn’t realized how thin Jon had been- well, he had certainly noticed that Jon was thin, but he had assumed it was mainly good genetics. He hadn’t realized it had so much to do with his eating habits.

But sure enough, since he’d been eating consistently, he looked less frail, less like he’d blow over if you so much as walked past him too quickly. He looked less tired, less…well- he supposed, less malnourished.

He was still thin, of course. Though his build wasn’t entirely genetics, it seemed to be largely helped by it. He hadn’t been gaining weight half as quickly as Tim had, something Tim tried to avoid thinking about where possible. He still couldn’t really exercise, so he had no way to get rid of all the calories he was taking in aside from maybe purging, but that was where he drew the line. He hated throwing up more than he hated his body, which, considering the fact that he’d even thought of purging as an option, was saying something.

Tim just had to deal with the fact that he was gaining weight while Jon was staying perfect. He couldn’t deny how jealous he was. Jon was almost exactly what he had always wanted to look like (a little on the short side, though-which was great on him, but Tim liked being tall). He was so  _ thin _ . He pulled off the long hair (it always made Tim dysphoric). He had that tired academic look down pat and somehow nailed haven’t-slept-in-a-week-chic without even realizing it. And he knew he wasn’t the only one who’d thought that, he could see how Martin looked at him. Tim and Sasha had ranted about it over too many pints once or twice. 

So he was gorgeous, alright? And Tim was jealous. And that was fine. He could deal with it. Jon was just… perfect. And he could live with it.

…

Hang on.

He was  _ what _ ?

“-Tim?” Jon asked. Tim snapped his head up. Jon must’ve been talking. Tim had definitely zoned out. Could Jon not have left him to his thoughts for a few minutes longer? He had some  _ things _ to think through now.

“S-Sorry?” He tried to bring himself back to the conversation at hand, tucking that away in his mind to think about later.

“I asked if you wanted the rice or the noodles. Same stir fry on top but I ran out of rice.”

“Oh, rice please.” He said, reaching for the container as Jon slid it over. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Jon smiled. 

They chatted a little while they ate, nothing half as interesting as the little thought tugging at the back of Tim’s mind throughout the meal. When they  _ finally _ finished, Tim excused himself to wheel himself to the loo. (Jon had found him a beat up old wheelchair somewhere that was loads easier than trying to walk on crutches with one foot in a boot and one arm bandaged up. It was a bit difficult to push the one side, but most of the time someone could help him out so his arm didn’t get too sore.)

He stared at himself in the mirror.

“Okay, he was  _ what? Gorgeous? _ Do...do people usually describe their friends like that?” he mouthed to himself.

Tim had realized he was bisexual in high school. He had to figure out he was trans before he could even broach the concept of sexuality. When he was a kid, he couldn’t figure out what anyone meant by “crushes”. He later realized it was because he didn’t want to be someone’s “girlfriend”. When he began transitioning, he finally understood that the way he’d been feeling about some of his friends (both boys and girls) had been what everyone else had described as “fancying someone.”

Since then, he’d been better about noticing, for the most part. Every once in a while he’d still be blindsided by a realization, like with his first roommate. He hadn’t known how head over heels he was for him until he moved out and he had space to think about how much he missed him. 

So there was a precedent for this. This being...was he in love with Jon?

Jonathan Sims, his boss. Jonathan Sims, his best friend. Short, dark and handsome… he really was gorgeous. One of the prettiest men Tim had ever seen, if he was being honest with himself.

“Which apparently I am, finally.” He laughed. “Jon, huh? Oh my god…” He clasped his hands over his mouth to try to hold in his erratic laughter. Sasha had insisted there was something between him and Jon for  _ years _ but he just kept saying it was friendship with a side of gender envy. And he had thought that was the truth! Maybe they should’ve had more of the serious conversations when they were sober.

He wasn’t going to do anything with this information. He couldn’t! Jon was going off to stop the apocalypse in just over a week. If he survived then maybe he would consider his options. But until then he was just going to laugh at himself for not realizing earlier.

* * *

“How’s it going, Martin?” Tim slapped him on the back playfully as he rolled into the bullpen. He was positively  _ giddy _ with his new discovery.

“Fine? I guess? What’s got you all riled up?” Martin asked suspiciously.

“Oh, nothing.” Tim laughed.

“You know that’s the most suspicious possible answer, right?”

“I do.” He grinned.

Martin rolled his eyes.

“Well, let me know if you want to share with the class.” 

“Will do.” Tim pulled into his desk and clammed up. It was very amusing to tease Martin, especially now knowing they shared a mutual crush. He tried to focus on his work but he couldn’t stop giggling.

“ _ What? _ ” Martin sighed after a few minutes, exasperated.

“It’s nothing! It’s nothing, I promise.” He tried to smile earnestly at Martin.  _ Oh, he looked very self-conscious. He probably thought Tim was laughing at him _ . “It’s not about you! You’re fine. It’s… okay there is  _ something _ but it isn’t about you, don't worry.”

“Alright…” Martin replied, still looking irritated but definitely relieved. He stood. “Tea?”

“Please.” Tim nodded. He watched Martin as he left. Martin was so nice.

_ Alright, let's slow down there. One workplace crush at a time. _ And what a time. He thought this realization may have come at one of the worst possible moments. He was actively trying  _ not _ to think about what Jon would be going off to do soon. He just...he just hoped he would come back.

He’d probably be fine. He had those spooky Eye powers. It was really Daisy and Basira he  _ should _ be worried about. They didn't have supernatural intervention. He just found that...he didn’t really care. Obviously he wanted them to be okay, he wasn’t  _ heartless _ . But… he was only mainly concerned with Jon. He just needed Jon to be okay.

_ Damn, really should’ve seen it earlier. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters??? in the span of like 12 hours? yeah what about ittt anyway thank u kaiser for the inspo for the first bit im very hyped to keep writing now and i already have another chapter planned (with ideas for at least one or two after) soooo look forward to it <3   
> [by look forward to it i mean prepare yourself lmao the next ones gonna be >:)]


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation after work the night before Jon leaves for the Unknowing.

“Tim, can we talk after work? Can I come over to yours?” Jon asked. Tim’s heart leapt into his throat. Jon was set to leave for the House of Wax the next day; what did he have to say that he couldn’t say at work? Tim couldn’t tell what the tone of the conversation was going to be, just that Jon looked nervous to have it.

“Uh, yeah? Sure? What’s up, boss?”

“I...I think it’s better if we discuss it later.” He was fidgeting with the hem of his jumper. 

“Alrighty.” Tim nodded. “Stop by my desk when you’re ready to go then, I suppose.”

Jon nodded and headed back to his office. Tim checked his watch and groaned. They still had two or three hours until Jon typically left work. He hoped that the fact that he was literally about to risk his life for his job would make him take it easy, leave a little early, but knowing Jon it would have the opposite effect. Tim knew he was having a hard time living off of old statements. He figured Jon was probably bingeing a bunch of them to try to get his energy levels up. It was as good an idea as any.

What did he want to talk about, though? Of course Tim’s first instinct was to assume Jon wanted to admit he had feelings for Tim. That was...rather unlikely. Wishful thinking.

What else could it be? If it was going to be some kind of will, Tim wasn’t going to hear it. Jon was going to be  _ fine. _ He had to be. Tim refused to think about alternatives.

He tried to pull his attention back to his work. It was important that they were as prepared as they could be. 

He scoured through the few books he had yet to read in the Institute that could conceivably be related to the Stranger until Jon startled him from his hyperfocus by clearing his throat.

“Oh! Time already?” Tim laughed sheepishly. He hoped Jon hadn’t seen him jump, but judging from the fond smile on his face, he very much had. Well...if it made him smile at Tim like that...maybe it wasn’t so bad.

“Unless you’d rather stay longer.” Jon teased. Tim shook his head vigorously, slamming the book he’d been reading closed. 

“Nope! I’m all Circus’d out for the day.” He grabbed his bag off the floor and slung it over his shoulder. “Give me a hand?” He jabbed a thumb behind him to the handles of the wheelchair.

Jon pulled him round and walked them out of the back of the Institute.

“Where’d you park?” He asked.

“It wasn’t too far…” Tim squinted in the dark-he really had hyperfocused, huh? It was light out last time he looked. “There.” He pointed at his car. Jon rolled him over.

“I’ve got it from here, thanks. Just need you to toss the chair in the back when I’m in.” Tim opened the door and hoisted himself up into the driver’s seat. Jon folded the chair and slid it into the back seat, going around the car and climbing in.

“So...what was it you wanted to talk about?” Tim asked to break the awkward silence that had filled the car.

“Ah...Can it wait until after dinner?” Jon asked. He was fidgeting again.

“I guess, though you’re making me  _ painfully _ curious now.”

Jon didn’t respond. Tim decided to show some mercy and change the subject.

“So, what’s for dinner? Take away?”

“Yeah, if that’s alright.” Jon replied quickly, clearly grateful for the new topic of conversation. 

“Sounds good to me.” Tim nodded. “Anything in mind?”

“No, I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Alright, well, what are you in the mood for? My treat.”

“Ramen?” Jon shrugged.

_ God. Of course ramen.  _ That was Danny’s favourite. They’d go out for ramen just about every time he stopped by. They had gotten it before Danny had gone off to explore the Covent Garden Theatre. And it… certainly hadn’t been a good luck charm that day. But luck wasn’t real. And besides, ramen was  _ really good _ . And he hadn’t had it since.  _ Fuck it _ .

“Yeah, ramen sounds good.” He nodded.

* * *

Tim perched himself on the couch, Jon in his armchair. Tim thought he looked adorable in that chair. It really highlighted how  _ small _ he was. 

Tim stopped staring and turned the telly on. He couldn’t think of anything to talk about aside from whatever Jon was hiding and he doubted Jon wanted to say much anyway. They both sat and ignored the tv until the doorbell rang. Jon got the food and thanked the delivery person, bringing the bag over to the coffee table in front of Tim. He sat cross legged across from Tim on the floor.

“You can sit on the couch,” Tim laughed. 

“I’m fine down here.” Jon shrugged.

“Alright, whatever floats your boat.”

They ate in silence, both of them scared to broach the subject. Tim didn’t even know what the subject  _ was _ but it must be pretty serious if Jon was getting this worked up about it.

The ramen was just as good as he remembered. Well, almost? It was weird to have a bag of broth to unceremoniously dump into a bowl. He definitely preferred eating in the restaurant, but oh well. It was still good. He ate a bit faster than he intended, grateful for his anxiety about Jon’s topic of discussion to distract from his anxiety about eating too fast.

Tim set down his empty bowl, staring at Jon expectantly.

“W-What?” Jon asked.

“You know what. What did you want to talk about?”

“I…” Jon sighed and set down his container. “Alright, look. This is… I don’t think you’re going to enjoy this conversation but it needs to be had so hear me out.”

Tim glared suspiciously.

“ _ Please _ .”

“Fine.” Tim sighed.

“Alright. Now.. I meant to bring this up a while ago… I just…”

“Couldn’t work up the nerve?” Tim sighed, knowing the feeling.

Jon nodded.

“So. The Unknowing.” Jon started.

“Uh huh.” Tim wished he would get to the  _ point _ .

“I- ah…” he sighed. “Alright, look. I might not be coming back-

“Yes you will.”

“Tim-”

“You will.”

“I said hear me out.” Jon said patiently.

Tim crossed his arms and sunk back into the couch, anger bubbling up inside. Jon was right, he didn't want to talk about this.

“I...I want to come back,” he laughed. “Trust me. I’ll be careful. But it’s the  _ apocalypse _ we’re talking about here. It’s the  _ Stranger _ . Hell, it's  _ Daisy with explosives _ . There are a million things that could go wrong.”

“You’d better be careful.” Tim muttered.

“I  _ will, _ I promise. But…” Jon sighed, pausing for a moment. He looked up at Tim. “Was it Sasha?”

“Was- What?” Tim shook his head in confusion. His guards had gone up at the mention of her name. He was trying to relax.

“You, uh...starting…” Jon was having a hard time getting the words out. He huffed in frustration. “Eating disorders can be brought on by grief.” He said deliberately. “Is that...Was it because Sasha…?”

Tim looked down at his hands in his lap.

“No… well- well, yes. I- “ He sighed. Jon reached over the table and put a hand on his.  _ Yeah, okay, as if that was going to make him think any clearer. _ Tim almost laughed out loud. Instead, he looked up at Jon.

“I don’t know when it properly started. ADHD, executive dysfunction...yknow?” He was glad he didn't have to explain the lack of energy, the overwhelming nature of too many options or too many steps or too many calories. Jon simply nodded.

“But after...after my brother- you listened to the tape, yeah?” He asked. He really hoped. He didn't want to have to explain it.

“I did.”

“Good. Well, yeah. After Danny died it started up a bit but Sasha really pushed it over the edge.”

“Okay. I… I thought that might be the case. Well then, the real thing I wanted to talk about- can I tell Martin about our little...arrangement?”

“What?” Tim asked, once again completely blindsided by the direction this had taken.

“I haven’t said anything about this to anyone. I thought you would appreciate some discretion. But… just in case something  _ were _ to happen, I think it’d be good to have someone to help.”

“I-” Tim didn’t know how to answer. He thought it probably was a good idea. But if Jon  _ was _ okay- and he’d better be- then he didn’t want to change Martin’s perspective of him. 

Also… there was an apocalypse ritual to deal with. Jon would be seriously risking his life and he was concerned about  _ this?  _ Tim didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Jon was still waiting on an answer so he elected to laugh.

“Are… did I say something funny?” Jon asked, completely baffled. That only made Tim laugh harder. He held his aching ribs as he cackled. 

Jon stared at him questioningly.

“You’re going to fight _ evil clowns _ !” Tim squealed. “You could  _ die _ and you’re worried about whether or not I’ll eat lunch next week!” 

Jon burst out laughing.

“Y-you’re right. This...this is all ridiculous.”

They laughed until they could barely breathe and then some more. Tears were streaming down their face, their cheeks and ribs sore. Neither of them could remember having laughed so hard in...quite a while. It was largely nerves, of course. But it felt good.

Tim looked over at Jon where he had collapsed on the carpet, body still shaking with laughter. He swore the man was glowing. God that smile…

If he did come back, Tim thought he would kiss him. He hoped to god he’d get the chance.

* * *

“You can set up an automatic email.” Tim said when they’d finally calmed down enough to breathe.

“A what?”

“You can write up an email explaining the whole situation to him and set it to send in a few days if you don’t delete it. I’d rather he didn’t know if it’s not necessary, but if...if it is necessary, then I think it’s a good idea.”

“Yeah...yeah, that would work. Can you help me with that?”

Tim nodded.

“Pass me my bag.”

Tim got out his laptop and Jon sat down on the couch beside him. (Very close. Their thighs were touching. Tim was going to have a difficult time focusing on the email.)

Together they typed up an email that outlined the basic situation and some tips for things that might help, ranging from low difficulty (just asking Tim if he was eating every so often) to high difficulty (prepping meals in a similar way to Jon). They didn’t want it to come across like he had to take care of Tim as extensively as Jon had, just that it would be good to keep an eye out. But, knowing Martin, he would go the full mile anyway.

“Alright. So in four days, you’re going to go back to this website and delete it.” Tim said.

“Yes.” Jon replied. 

Tim stared at Jon, trying to take it all in for what he hoped wouldn’t be the last time. His long hair with more silver streaks than someone his age should have, the top pulled back to keep it out of his eyes. His deep brown eyes, so dark they almost looked black. His skin, pockmarked with so many scars (Tim desperately hoped he wouldn’t be going out to get more). His tiny frame, even with proper amounts of food; cheekbones still visible, fingers still slender, but in a healthier way. Not sickly, like he once looked. Just thin. Small. The way his shirt hung off of his shoulders, tucked into his skirt, as always. Tim had to resist the urge to grab him by it and hold him close, to insist he stay and let Daisy and Basira handle the Unknowing, to beg him to not leave him like Danny and Sasha…

But he couldn’t do that. He knew Jon had a job to do. He just wished he could be there with him while he did it.

“Fuck.” He hissed, swiping at the tears rolling down his cheek. He turned away from Jon.

Jon let out a watery chuckle. Tim looked over at him. He was crying too.

“Was wondering who would break first.” Jon said, smiling through the tears. He held out his arms. Tim fell into them, burying his face in the crook of Jon’s neck. He wrapped his arms around Jon’s middle. 

Jon laughed in surprise at how eagerly he’d moved but Tim didn’t care. All he cared about was holding Jon for as long as he could.

They sat in silence like that for a long while. Tim hadn’t realized how much he’d been needing a hug, and he suspected Jon was thinking the same. They clung to each other for dear life, the only sound the odd sniffle.

“Can you stay?” Tim asked into Jon’s neck. Jon shifted- his breath probably tickled- but he didn’t pull away.

“I can stay the night.” He said softly. That was the best he could do.

They didn’t budge from that spot until long after both of their legs had fallen asleep and they were both halfway there themselves.

“We should probably try to get some sleep.” Jon sighed, finally pulling away.

Tim nodded.

“I have a spare toothbrush you can borrow.”

“Thanks.”

He also ended up lending him a spare tee and some shorts, both of which were quite oversized on his small frame.

They didn’t bother with the pretense that Jon sleeping on the couch was an option. They wordlessly climbed into bed, looking at each other as best they could in the dark. They weren’t touching; lying only a foot apart. Tim almost didn’t want to touch him. That would make it real. Jonathan Sims was  _ here _ in  _ his bed _ and he was going off tomorrow  _ without him _ and he might not make it back. He couldn’t do anything to protect him. He looked… so small. Especially in Tim’s clothes. He just wanted to protect him.

But there was nothing he could do.

Jon reached up and wiped away the tear that was rolling down Tim’s cheek towards the pillow. He moved to pull his hand away but Tim brought his own hand up to hold it in place. Jon didn’t protest. He simply watched. Tim closed his eyes, trying to ingrain the memory of his touch in his brain forever. The sound of his soft breathing. Just the feeling of his presence, even, was a comfort.

He opened his eyes. Jon was still looking at him, a sad fondness cast across his features.

No more words passed between them that night. Eventually they drifted off, leaving the bittersweet evening behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:)
> 
> (ok can i just say that europeans are cowards tho fdsdfhfj the House of Wax museum is like. 3 hours from where they are they did NOT need a hotel i hate the fact i had to keep saying "the next day jon had to leave" instead of "the next day was the Unknowing" anyway im adding something humorous here to detract from what i just wrote because yeah dw it hurt me too <3)
> 
> hope youre scared for the next chapter!! ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day before the Unknowing.

_ I turn on the headlamp I took out of Jon’s bag. I don't want to attract attention but how am I supposed to find him in the dark? The beam isn’t very strong. It sweeps across stone seats filled with wax figures. They all look wrong, somehow. Too realistic but at the same time too… wrong to be truly lifelike.  _

_ I move forward, trying to find him. I don't want to call his name; I know what's going to happen. But I don't see him. I don't have any other choice. _

_ “Jon!” I hiss.  _

_ As expected, the wax figures all turn their heads towards me. I didn't even see them move. They‘re just… looking at me now. I shudder. _

_ “Jon,” I plea. Could he be in one of the seats? I scan the audience but all I can see are those… wait. That one. It’s not Jon, it- its Danny. It’s him. But it’s so obviously not. His...his...skin is draped over a mannequin, stapled to keep it in place. The thing grins at me. I don't see it move but it's grinning now. _

_ “Hi, Tim! So glad you could join us!” It says in his voice. But it’s not his voice. It sounds… wrong. Fake cheerful in a way Danny never was. _

_ I can’t even react. I’m frozen in place, just like last time. That’s why he’s here. That’s why they did this to him. That’s what they’re going to do to Jon. _

_ Something snaps inside me. Jon. I can save him this time. I can get him out of here. I know where he is. I tear my eyes away from the thing wearing my brother and I run towards the stage.  _

_ “Jon!” I scream. The light from my headlamp bobs with every step, the effect nauseating. I keep moving. I’m getting closer to the stage. I look up. The beam barely reaches but- there he is.  _

_ He looks so scared. He’s shaking like a leaf, just standing on the stage, frozen in place.  _

_ “Jon! Jon, I’m here!” I yell, running faster. He doesn’t react. I won't freeze this time. I won't let them do that to him. I couldn’t save Danny. I couldn’t save Sasha. It’s not happening to Jon. _

_ I’m almost at the stairs to the stage when I’m jerked to a stop by a hand on my leg. I hit the ground hard. More hands-if you can call them that; they feel like lunch meat has been taped to claws- grab my arms, my other leg, my throat, my mouth, my hair. They drag me back upright, my feet dangling off the ground. I can't breathe. I can't move. I thrash, trying to yank myself free but with every movement more hands appear. I pull and punch and kick but I can’t move. They tilt me towards the stage. No. No. No. _

_ The spotlight turns on. It isn't pointed at Jon, but at the clown in the corner of the stage. I try to scream, to warn him somehow, but I can’t do anything. I’m useless. I can only watch. Watch as the clown drags itself towards Jon. Watch as stands up behind Jon. Watch as Jon whimpers, turns to me, eyes begging me to do something. Watch as it takes Jon’s hand. _

_ The curtains framing the stage fall around me, tangling around my limbs. Suffocating me. _

Tim was plunged into darkness, screaming. He shoved the hands off him, thrashing against the hands holding him down. He fought to free himself from the curtains wrapped around him. 

He could barely hear over his own ragged screams, over the blood pumping in his ears, but he could swear someone was calling his name. He tried to breathe, to shove off the curtains, the hands.

“Tim!” Jon? Tim stilled himself.

“J-Jon?” His voice was rough, hoarse from screaming.

A hand touched him. He jumped, swatting at it.

“Ow! Tim- it’s me! Let me help-” Jon… Jon? The curtain was peeled away from his face. Jon was staring down at him, panic in his eyes. He looked hesitant to move any further. 

Tim looked around. He was lying on the floor next to his bed. The curtain- what he now realized was his blanket- was wrapped loosely around him.  _ Oh _ .

“You had a nightmare.” Jon said softly. Tim covered his face with his hands and let his head rest back against the floor, relaxing his body. He tried to slow his breathing.

“God, I’m sorry, Jon.” He groaned.

“You can’t help it.” Jon laughed affectionately. “Come back up here.” 

Tim’s heart fluttered- in a good way this time. He crawled back onto the bed, fixing the blankets around them. 

“Can I hug you?” Jon asked.

“Uh-yeah!” Tim stammered.

“Sure you won’t hit me again?” Jon teased.

“I’m so sorry,” Tim groaned, laughing again. 

“It’s alright.” Jon wrapped his arms around Tim’s neck, giggling. Tim sighed and curled up in his arms, his head pressed against Jon’s chest. He listened to Jon’s heartbeat, letting his own fall back to normal.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jon asked softly.

“You… can probably guess what it was about.” Tim replied, muffled by Jon’s arm. 

“ _ Oh _ .” Jon said. A little...too knowingly.

“Jon. Did- did you just…”

“Oh- Oh- I’m sorry Tim, I didnt- I didn’t mean to-”

“Whatever.” Tim sighed. He wanted to be angry about it but he couldn’t muster up the energy.

“You’re not mad?” Jon asked hesitantly.

“...No.”

“Ah.”

“Did you  _ want _ me to be?”

“Well- No, I’m- I…”Jon sighed. “I just… I’m not used to you…  _ not _ being mad at me, I guess. Surprised, is all.”

“Ah.”

They returned to silence. Tim listened to Jon’s heartbeat, trying to fall back asleep. He didn’t know what time it was, but he was hoping it was too early to get up.

Jon’s soft breathing turned to snores. Tim tried to focus on the sound of the air moving in and out and not the thought that it might not do so for much longer. It was just getting irritating at this point. There was nothing he could do about it. Jon was going to go and he would either be fine or he wouldn’t. He would just have to face whatever the outcome was when it happened. No use worrying about it.

As gently as he could, he shifted so he could see over Jon’s shoulder to check the time on his alarm clock. 6 am. Well, it didn’t seem like he was going to get back to sleep any time soon, and Jon probably wanted to leave by 8 anyway.

Tim carefully extracted himself from Jon’s arms, slipping out of bed and into his wheelchair, quietly rolling himself into the kitchen. He put the kettle on and rifled through his fridge, looking for something he could make for breakfast. He settled on eggs, grabbing a couple and setting them on the counter, getting out a frying pan. He pulled himself to his feet in front of the stove, put a pad of butter into the pan and turned on the burner. 

While waiting for the butter to melt, Tim tried to decide how to make the eggs. He didn’t know Jon’s preference. Tim was rather impartial to sunny side up, especially with a perfectly runny yolk and a side of toast. Well. Now his mouth was watering. He supposed he’d start with an egg sunny side up for himself.

When the butter was melted, Tim swirled it around the pan to make sure it was coated before cracking an egg into it. He got out a spatula and fiddled with the edges of it, pushing them in as they turned white to keep them from burning. He prepped some toast while he waited on the egg to cook.

“Smells good.” Jon muttered groggily as he shuffled out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes. 

“Morning.” Tim smiled. 

Jon dropped himself into a chair, resting his head in his arms folded on the table.

“If you’re that tired, you _ can _ get some more sleep.” Tim chuckled. 

“No, I’ve gotta leave soon anyway. I’ll be good once I get some tea.” Jon grumbled into his arms.

“If you insist. How do you like your eggs?”

“Ah, no preference, really.”

“Sunny side up alright then?”

Jon grunted in assent.

Tim checked the egg in the pan. It looked done. He put it on a plate and put some more butter in the pan. He grabbed a mug from the cupboard and dropped a tea bag in it, pouring hot water over it and popping a spoon in. Jon looked up when he set the plate and the mug in front of him, giving him a tired smile.

“Thanks, Tim.”

“No problem, boss.” Tim turned back to the now sizzling butter in the pan and cracked the other egg into it. “Toast?”

“Please.” Jon said around the bite of egg. “Oh my god, Tim, this is perfect.”

“Is it?” Tim grinned. A few minutes later, he was tucking into his own egg.

“Damn, I  _ can _ cook a mean egg, huh?” Tim laughed. 

Jon nodded in agreement, sipping his tea.

“You’ll have to make me another when I come over to delete that email.” Jon said, an instant look of regret on his face. They had almost made it through breakfast without facing… that again. Tim wasn’t even sure what the “thing they were avoiding talking about” was, could’ve been his eating disorder or the Unknowing. Either way, the energy in the kitchen was… uncomfortable.

“Will do.” Tim said slowly. They looked down at their plates to avoid facing the shift in conversation. Tim finished his breakfast, washed up their dishes, and sat back down in silence, marking Jon’s furtive glances in his head.

“Look, Tim...I-”

“Save it for when you come back.”

“Wh-”

“Don’t tell me anything right now. You can tell me whatever it is after you get back.” Tim said firmly.

“Alright.” Jon sighed complacently.

Tim stared at Jon, trying to memorize his features once more. He thought Jon might be doing the same thing.

* * *

They didn’t exchange many more words after breakfast, keeping mainly to themselves as they got ready for the day. Tim dropped Jon off at his flat, having been assured Basira would be coming to pick him up later. He drove to the Institute to finish up his research for the day; as if he’d be able to think of anything other than Jon.

He forced himself to read so he wouldn’t keep checking the clock. It helped, but he definitely caught himself glancing anyway.

Ten am. Basira would be pulling up outside Jon’s flat. He would’ve changed into something comfortable but still professional, pulled his hair back so he could focus better. Probably had his clothes crammed into a messenger bag like he used to do when he stayed the night back in Research. 

Noon. Jon was probably snoozing in the back seat, head lolling to the side. That man could sleep anywhere.

Two pm. They’d definitely arrived in Great Yarmouth by now, but check in wasn’t till three. They’d probably stopped off somewhere for lunch. 

Sure enough, a few minutes later he got a text from Jon, reading “ _ How’s lunch?” _ Tim had been too wrapped up in the article he was reading to stop, so he took the opportunity to head to the break room alone. He popped open the container. A wrap. Nice. He took a few bites before remembering to text Jon back.

_ Delicious, thanks! _

_ Is it cooked all the way through? _

_ Cooked?? _

_ Testing you :) Glad you like. _

Tim laughed. Of course he would. What a sneak.

_ Yes, this wrap is medium rare just how i like it. What did you have? _

_ Ah, perfect. We just got McDonald’s. _

_ Lame. Not the fine dining you were expecting? _

_ Definitely not my choice of last meal. _

Tim winced. He set his phone down and finished his wrap, refusing to grace that with an answer. When he was finished, he checked to see if Jon had said anything else. 

_ We do have dinner to look forward to. Help me talk them into something better? _

_ You’re on your own there, boss. Gotta get back to work <3 _

_ Have fun. _

_ I won't. _

Tim kept his promise. He trudged through books and statements that were only marginally legible, still unable to keep his eyes off the clock.

Three thirty. They’d checked in, Jon dropping his bag on the floor of his room and flopping onto the bed to waste time flicking through tv channels for a bit. 

Five. Jon was probably pacing his room, reading statements aloud and annoying the hell out of anyone downstairs.

Seven. He had probably talked Daisy and Basira into eating by themselves so he could order something they didn’t want.

Tim was rolling through the door of his flat when his phone buzzed.

_ Dinnertime? _

_ It is. _

_ Check your freezer. _

Tim stared at the message, confused. He rolled himself to the kitchen and pulled open the freezer. His own meager supplies were buried behind stacks of containers filled with enough food to last him days, if not weeks.

_ Jon! You didn’t have to! _

_ I know :) There are some more cans in your pantry, too. Easy-to-make food. _

_ Thank you. _

_ You’re welcome. _

Tim scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing. Jon was too good to him.

_ Have you gotten your food yet? _

_ Not yet, can’t decide what to get.  _

_ What’s the address of your bed-and-breakfast? _

_ No. _

_ Spill. _

Tim swore he could hear Jon’s sigh through the text containing the address. He grinned and pulled up an app to look for food he could order to Jon’s room. He settled on sushi. He knew Jon was a fan.

_ It’ll be there in half an hour <3 _

_ >:( _

Tim laughed. He pulled one of the containers out of the freezer and cracked the lid, popping it into the microwave.

_ You’re welcome <3 _

_ … Thank you. _

He turned on the tv and half-paid attention to whatever sitcom was on while he ate his dinner. He checked his phone when he finished eating.

_ I hate you. This all looks delicious. _

_ You’re welcome :) _

_ :P _

Tim smiled down at his phone, shaking his head. Jon was adorable. He played some video games to waste time before bed.

Eleven pm. Jon would be getting ready to sleep. Tim sent him a text.

_ Night, sleep well. _

_ Good night, Tim. You too. _

Tim sighed and put the controller down. He should probably try to get some sleep before their big day tomorrow. 

He brushed his teeth, slipped out of his jeans and hoodie...and rolled himself back into the living room. He wasn’t even remotely tired. He could play a little longer.

His phone went off a couple hours later.

_ Go to sleep, Tim. _

_ Are you spying on me?? _

_ No, I can’t sleep. Thought you might be having the same problem. _

_ Well, you weren’t wrong. _

_ Have you tried? _

_...No. _

_ Why don't you lie down, at least? _

_ Fine, I’ll get in bed, mom. _

_ XOXO _

Tim rolled his eyes but rolled himself to his bedroom anyway. He got comfy in his bed, turning off the lamp. He might as well try.

_ In bed? _

_ You’re such a snoop, but yes. _

_ A snoop who cares <3 _

_ Why don’t you try being a snoop who snores? _

_ That was awful. _

_ I know <3 _

_ Ok, let’s both give it a try. I’ll text you in half an hour if I’m not asleep. _

_ Right-o. _

_ Good luck <3 _

_ Don't let the bed bugs bite ;) _

_ Not cute. _

Tim’s fingers floated over the keys. He wanted to send one more text. Just a quick ‘love you!’- that could be platonic, right?  _ God _ , he wanted to. But he should probably leave that for when Jon got back.  _ When _ . He sighed and set his phone down, making sure his alarm clock was set before stretching out under his blankets.

Jon was probably curled up as small as possible under the blankets, his hair cascading over the pillow, a few strands tucked behind his ear. Tim tried to remember what it was like to lie curled up next to him that morning. How warm he was. The sound of his heartbeat, his breath. The way his chest rumbled against his cheek when he spoke. He sighed and rolled onto his side, hugging a pillow to his chest. Maybe if he closed his eyes he could trick himself into believing it was Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao okay this chapter didnt go as far as i thought it would so it wasnt too bad on the boys <3  
> (also thats funny to say when its like twice as long as some of the previous chapters-i mean it didnt go as long timelinewise)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of The Unknowing.

A coma. The doctors called it a coma. They didn’t know what else to call it. It was medically impossible. He wasn’t breathing, his heart wasn’t beating, but his brain was still operating normally.

This kind of thing was borderline “medical miracle”. They had hooked him up to machines and now he was in the type of situation that was unlikely, but not impossible. But… it was Jon. This wasn’t a normal coma. “A normal coma.” God, what had their lives become that  _ that _ was a phrase that needed saying?

Tim had been sitting in Jon’s hospital room for as long as the nurses would allow, but there were no signs of improvement. Martin had been round quite a bit, the others stopping in when they could. Tim felt… numb. He didn't know what to think. He couldn’t grieve, Jon wasn’t dead. Or...probably wasn’t dead. He had been with the Stranger, after all.

_ No. _ That wasn’t helpful. Tim had felt Jon’s hand. It felt...like a person. Cold, but like a person. At the very least, he wasn’t like Nikola or Breekon and Hope. Which… wasn’t saying much, but it was something. 

Elias had been arrested, and one of the Lukas family had taken over as head of the Institute. He’d given them all a few weeks off, which Tim was very glad to accept. Meant more time to sit and stare at Jon, willing him to wake up.

It had only been three days so far. A three day coma was...a lot, obviously, but it wasn’t unprecedented. He could wake up at any minute (not according to the doctors, but Tim wasn’t sure they had much experience with someone gaining power from a  _ spooky fear god _ ).

Tim and Martin had tried reading statements to him, but it didn’t appear to do much. They had brought in tape recorders, hoping that might help. They had pleaded for him to wake up (not together, but Tim knew Martin was as upset about this as he was). So far, nothing had worked. 

Tim was struggling to know how to react to this. He didn’t want to hold out false hope and watch another person be ripped from him if they couldn’t wake him up, but he also didn’t want to grieve someone who wasn’t dead. Tim was barely sleeping, barely eating. He wanted Jon to wake up and berate him for it. He knew that wasn’t good, but… maybe seeing him relapse would bring him back. Maybe it would help somehow.

It wasn’t like he was doing it on purpose. He couldn’t help it. He was constantly nauseous just thinking about Jon just lying there with all those tubes sticking out of him. It took all of his energy and willpower to open his freezer and reheat one of the meals Jon had made him after spending the day at the hospital. He couldn’t force down anything more than one meal a day, at best.

Tim hated himself for relapsing. He was trying to convince himself it was fine, it was just a little blip, that it was just part of recovery. But it just felt like every time he took one step forward he took two steps back. He was so tired of dealing with this.

He just wanted Jon back.

* * *

“Hey, um, Tim?”

Tim groaned. He had fallen asleep, his chair pulled up to the side of Jon’s bed, his head in his folded arms on the bed. His hand in Jon’s. He sat up, rubbing his face.

“Mm?”

“Can… can we talk?” Martin asked, still standing in the doorway behind him.

“‘Bout what?”

“Ah… maybe...outside?”

Tim turned to look at him, confused. What on earth could he be- _ oh _ .  _ Fuck, the email _ . His stomach dropped. He’d completely forgotten about the email. He sighed, closing his eyes. He nodded.

“Yep. Yeah. One minute.”

Martin nodded and stepped into the hall.

“This is your fault, you bastard. If you’d just woken up…” Tim muttered to Jon, but there was no heat to the words. He patted Jon’s hand and rolled himself out of the room. He kept going past Martin.

“Let’s talk in my car. Don’t want people overhearing.”

“Okay.” Martin replied from behind him. Tim could hear him following.

  
  


“So. What was it you wanted to talk about?” Tim asked in a tired voice when they’d gotten themselves situated. 

“You, uh… you seem like you might have an idea.” Martin replied, gesturing to their new location.

Tim sighed.

“Yeah.”

Tim stared out the front window at the hospital, refusing to look at Martin. He couldn’t say it out loud. He needed Martin to broach the subject.

“Tim…” Martin started.

Tim reluctantly looked over at him.

“Have you been eating?” His concern was visible.

Tim’s mouth went dry. He knew what Martin was going to ask. Why did it still hit him so hard?

“A bit.”

“Well, that’s good. I’m proud of you for that, at least.”

“Th-thanks.” Tim could barely choke out the words around the lump in his throat. He hadn’t realized how tough this was to talk about. Or how much he’d needed to hear that.

“Do you...want help? I can make you food like… like Jon did if you want. Or just check in on you, remind you when to eat. Whatever you think would help.”

Tim paused to think for a moment. He couldn’t decide if he wanted help or not.

“Maybe… can we eat lunch together? We usually stop by at the same time, right? We can get lunch, or I can bring food. Whatever.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea.” Martin grinned. He looked relieved to be able to help.

“And if… if you wanted to check in… that might not be a bad idea. Jon left me a lot of food so… it’s made. I just have to… actually eat it.”

“No problem! I’ll text you a couple times a day, then. That sound good?”

“It… Yeah, that sounds great.” Tim sighed, relieved. “Thank you, Martin.”

“Of course.”

“Well…” Martin broke the comfortable silence that had settled in. “Have you… are you hungry?”

“I could eat.” Tim replied. He couldn’t really tell if he was hungry anymore. He’d spent too long going without that he was used to the stomachache by now. But he hadn’t eaten yet.

“Why don't we get lunch then? My treat.”

“Sure.” Tim nodded, turning on the car. “Any preference?”

* * *

Days passed, then weeks. Tim learned to lean on Martin instead of Jon. And it was… really nice, actually. Martin was really good at checking in in subtle ways, sneaking it into the conversation without breaking the tone. The two of them would take their lunch breaks together, and in the mornings Martin would, more often than not, “happen to catch a sale” at the local bakery or have muffins he “needed eaten before they spoiled”. Tim appreciated it.

He also started getting closer to Melanie. They hung out and bitched about work a lot. She was… angrier than he remembered her being? But he knew what that was like, so he didn’t mind. Basira was off in her own little world, jumping back and forth between Elias and Peter Lukas to distract herself from her grief over Daisy. He couldn’t blame her. He knew how that felt too.

Though he wouldn’t have thought it possible a short time ago, Tim could sometimes go an entire day without thinking about Jon. When he realized, he felt  _ awful _ about it, like he’d betrayed him somehow. The next time he visited, he always brought Jon a fresh set of flowers for the vase beside his bed and a new statement as a silent apology.

Tim was feeling… pretty alright, overall. He still missed Jon, of course. And he wasn’t perfect about eating, he still found it hard to get even three proper meals sometimes. But it was manageable. He could deal with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol i need to stop saying things about future chapters i dont outline anything i just have a vague idea of plot points i want in the future so i cant be like "oh this next chapter is gonna be x or y" cuz i literally never know till its done lmao anyway speaking of which ive got some ideas in my head cant wait to get em downnn see u soon xoxo


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anxiety attack and some Bad news.

Tim and Martin’s arrangement had been working out about as well as it had with Jon. It was a bit harder for Tim to get motivation to make his own food, so he tried to force himself to do so to extend his stash of premade meals for days when he  _ really _ couldn't.

He tended to fluctuate between 2-4 meals a day, which he was satisfied with for now. Some days were worse than others. There had been a few times when he’d been tempted to throw all his progress away again, to just sit on the couch and let himself starve, but he had been able to talk himself into cracking open a can of veggies or soup that Jon had bought for him. If it was really bad, he’d only be able to eat a can of veggies with chopsticks. It slowed him down a  _ lot, _ which made him feel a bit better about eating and made him feel full for longer. Not ideal, but he was working through it. 

The ring he’d worn so often as a punishment was now a source of pride for the  _ right _ reason. It fit on his fingers again (albeit a bit loose), something he told himself Jon would be overjoyed to see when (not if,  _ when _ ) he woke up from his coma. It was a good thing. It was a nice reminder of how much his friends loved him; Sasha loved him enough to buy him the ring, and Jon and Martin loved him enough to help him be able to eat adequately enough to wear it again.

Tim was sitting in the break room messing about on his phone, waiting on Martin to start eating. He had taken a call just before they usually went for lunch. Tim had leftover pasta from last night that he was eager to get started eating but he wanted to be polite and wait for Martin. It was nice to be eager to eat again.

“How’s it goin’, Stoker?” Melanie asked as she sauntered into the breakroom. 

“Not bad- did you only call me by my last name so I’d call you ‘King’?” Tim grinned suspiciously. 

Melanie shrugged, poorly concealing a smile.

“Maybe.”

“Oh, speaking of which, I’ve been wondering- is that a stage name? Or were you just born with a dope as hell last name?”

“A lady never reveals her secrets.” Melanie replied with a wink.

Tim sighed dramatically. She patted him on the shoulder and sat across from him, kicking her feet up onto the chair beside her. 

“What’ve you got for lunch?”

“Pasta.”

“Mm, carbs.” Melanie nodded happily.

Panic shot through Tim’s body. Obviously he knew pasta was largely carbs. And he knew that carbohydrates were a good source of energy and  _ not evil _ but- what did he need energy for, really? He was just going to sit at his desk once lunch was done. And the energy he could be using productively would instead be converted to…

Tim wasn’t sure  _ what _ was happening. This… was this an anxiety attack? He couldn’t breathe. He could  _ not _ let Melanie see what was happening but he also didn’t think he could talk. He forced a laugh and a nod, praying it came across as casual as intended. She didn’t react to it, so he assumed it had.

He spun the fidget ring to stim out some of the anxiety, and bounced his leg to get out some energy, hoping it would be enough to let his brain accept that he’d “earned” his pasta. His phone became the most interesting object in the world. Tim hoped Melanie would either not have anything to say until he could distract himself enough to calm down again or would believe that he’d zoned out for a minute while reading something interesting if she did decide to speak.

“Have you met Peter Lukas?” Melanie asked abruptly.  _ Fuck. _

Tim made a face of contemplation, rubbing his chin. His mind was blank. He couldn’t remember how to form a sentence. And even if he could, his jaw felt like it was fused shut, like it would take all of the energy in his body to utter a single word. He made a face and shook his head, praying that would be a satisfactory response.

“That’s...that’s weird isn’t it? Like, Basira is the only one who’s spoken to him directly and it’s been, what, two or three  _ months _ ?”

Tim nodded. He had to respond. Just force out  _ something. _

“Yeah, weird.”  _ God _ , that felt  _ so _ difficult. 

“He works for The Lonely though, so I suppose that makes sense.” Melanie shrugged. “Not ideal for a boss- well, I mean- actually this is pretty ideal.” She chuckled. “I don’t have to do  _ shit. _ ”

Tim laughed. He wasn’t having to force it as hard now. That was a relief.

“Say, do you have any more... “ She quirked an eyebrow at Tim. She had walked in on him getting high on one of his bad days and they’d had a pretty nice afternoon hotboxing one of the deserted offices and throwing paper airplanes at a horribly drawn approximation of Elias.

“Not on me.” Tim sighed. He was feeling just about back to normal (thank god). “I can bring some in later this week though, if you wanna… We’ll have to make sure Martin and Basira are busy though.” He snickered.

“Yeah, that would be fun.” Melanie grinned. Her head snapped to the doorway. “Shh, I think Martin’s coming.”

Tim nodded and motioned as if zipping his mouth shut.

Martin staggered through the doorway a few moments later, holding his phone loosely near his face with a blank expression on his face.

“Whoa, Martin, are you okay?” Melanie asked before Tim could. Tim was already on his feet, afraid Martin might collapse. He looked like he was in shock.

“My mum’s dead.” He said softly. 

Melanie covered her mouth with her hand. Tim guided Martin over to his chair.

“God, Martin, I’m so sorry.” Tim said uselessly. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. There wasn’t much he  _ could _ say.

Martin was shaking his head.

“I… I didn’t think… I thought… She was going to be okay for a bit longer…” He was mumbling, barely audible. 

Melanie and Tim shared a helpless look. What could they do?

“Can I give you a hug?” Tim asked.

Martin’s head snapped up as if he’d just realized Tim was there. His blank expression shattered. He nodded, lip trembling. Tim hugged him tight, rubbing circles on his back. Martin clung to Tim, tears finally falling. It was like his whole  _ being _ had shattered. Tim was glad he’d gotten Martin to sit; he was almost certain he would’ve collapsed if he hadn’t.

Martin sobbed into his shoulder. Melanie brought over a box of tissues, sitting in the chair beside Martin to rub his shoulder comfortingly, resting her head on his.

They spent a good chunk of the afternoon like that, Martin sobbing and muttering incoherently, Melanie and Tim doing their best to comfort him, providing shoulders to cry on, tissues to wipe away tears, and glasses of water to rehydrate with.

After a few hours, Martin had calmed down a bit, sitting silently and sipping water, staring at the floor.

“Martin?” Tim said gently. Martin raised his eyebrows slightly but didn’t look up. “Do you want to go home? Or you can stay at my place tonight. I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

Martin nodded slowly.

“Um. Y-yours. Can’t face… Too much…” He said vaguely.

“I understand. Do you want to go now or later?” Tim kept his voice soft and his words slow.

“Now. Please.” Martin said, closing his eyes as tears started to roll down his cheeks once more.

“Yeah, no problem, bud.” Tim patted him on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go grab our stuff. Be back in a minute.” 

Tim got their bags and sweaters and returned to the break room. Melanie gave Martin a hug when he got to his feet.

“If you need anything, just give me a call.” She said, looking between the two of them. Tim gave her a nod. Martin pulled on his sweater and sighed.

“Thanks, Melanie.”

“Of course.”

The car ride was spent in a heavy silence, as was the walk up to Tim’s flat. Martin had only been over a few times prior; Tim hoped he wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable.

When they got inside, Martin shuffled over to the couch.

“Do you want to take the bed? I can sleep on the couch.”

“No, Tim, I couldn’t-”

“You’re probably going to be more comfortable in the bed. I can go change the sheets right now so you’re all good for whenever you wanna lie down. I’m not going to force you or anything, I’d just feel bad if you had to worry about a sore back from sleeping on the couch on top of everything.”

Martin sighed and nodded.

“Okay. Thank you.”

“No problem. I’ll be right back.”

Tim changed the sheets and kicked a few stray shirts under his bed before returning.

“Do you want something to eat?” Tim asked. “It’s getting kind of late and we did miss lunch.”

Martin shook his head.

“I don’t think I can. You… you eat though.”

Tim paused, thinking.

“Could you sip some soup for me?”

Martin looked up at Tim.

“I… I can try.”

“Good man. I’ll go make some. You can turn on the telly if you want. Tissues are on the table beside you.” He patted Martin on the shoulder as he passed by. Martin simply nodded.

He made some chicken soup, getting out crackers and toast to dip in it. He hoped Martin would be able to eat some of it, at least.

He brought it out to him in a soup mug, setting the plate of toast and crackers on the coffee table.

“Eat as much as you can.” He said gently, sitting down in the armchair with his own bowl of soup.

“Thanks, Tim.”

“It’s really no problem.”

They ate in silence. Martin ate more than Tim thought he would. He probably hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he started eating. Tim was glad to see it. Everything was harder to manage on an empty stomach. 

Tim didn’t know a ton about Martin’s mum. He didn’t talk about her too much. From what he’d gathered she was… not kind. And had been quite sick. A horrible combination for a son so sweet. Tim knew Martin probably felt guilty for being at work when it happened and for not being able to take care of her himself in her last few months. He had mentioned a care home some time ago and didn’t seem happy about it. 

He hoped that Martin wouldn’t have too much to do in regards to funeral planning. If his mum had been sick for a while, it was likely she had a pretty good outline already. Tim knew how tough planning a funeral was in the throes of grief; Danny’s will was not very thorough, and trying to plan it when it was the last thing he wanted to think about (even if it was the only thing he  _ could _ think about) was  _ hell _ . Tim was ready to do anything Martin needed him to.

All of this while Jon was still in a coma? Though there was no  _ good _ time for a death, these were certainly not ideal circumstances.

“I think I’m gonna rest for a bit.” Martin said when he’d finished, his voice still hoarse from crying.

“Alright. I’ll get you a glass of water to take with you. Do you want some clothes to change into?”

“I, um… I don’t know if you’d have anything that fits.” Martin said awkwardly.

“Oh trust me, my shoulders are broader than you’d think. Gimme a minute.” Tim headed into his bedroom and rifled around for his favourite pajama shirt. Thank god he’d just done laundry. It was a bit big on him, so it should be comfortable for Martin, if not slightly baggy. At the back of his closet he found some sweatpants he’d bought oversized for dysphoria purposes years ago and hadn’t gotten rid of yet. Perfect.

“How about these?” Tim said, holding out the clothes to Martin. “Should be a bit comfier, anyway.”

Martin almost smiled. He did look relieved, which was a good start.

“Those look like they’ll fit great. Thanks, Tim.”

“You’re very welcome.” Tim smiled, handing them to Martin. He got changed in the bathroom, took his glass of water and went off to bed. Tim kept quiet that night, letting Martin have some peace.

* * *

“Good morning,” Tim said reflexively when Martin appeared in the door. He winced. It was...not a good morning. Martin, understandably, looked  _ exhausted _ . Tim had heard him crying off and on throughout the night. He wasn’t crying at the moment. He looked… empty.

“I’ve got to go buy a suit.” Martin said completely devoid of expression. He sounded so hollow, so numb. Tim thought this might be worse than the tears. “I- I’ve...got to go buy my first suit.”

“Your first?”

“I didn’t graduate high school. Dropped out at 17. Didn’t even go to prom. Never had anywhere to wear a suit to.” Martin said slowly.

“... God…” Was all that Tim could say in response.

Martin nodded.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, Tim, you’ve got-”

“I have nothing more important to do if that’s what you’re going to say.”

“If you go too long without work won’t it… drain you?”

“Yeah, and you too. We’ll go in for a bit in a day or two, we still have some time.”

“Then… yeah, if you’re okay with it that would be… I would appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

* * *

“I don’t know how to tie it.” Martin sniffled as he stepped out of the bathroom on the morning of the funeral. Tim had offered to come with. They were getting dressed at Martin’s flat. Tim had just finished fixing his own tie in Martin’s hallway mirror.

Tim turned to Martin. He looked  _ really _ good in his suit. Tim felt horrible for thinking it at a time like this, but it was true. He just wished they had a nicer occasion to be dressing up for.

“Don’t worry, I can help you out. Here, let me see it.” Tim waved Martin closer, holding out a hand for the tie. Martin passed it to him. Tim slipped it on over his own tie and adjusted it so it was sitting properly.

“So you start with the thin end like this-” He gestured to the end in his left hand, resting near his collarbone. “Then you cross over the wider end-” He continued to act as he spoke- “Bring it under, over the left side, behind, over the right side, then around, over and through. And you pull the thin end to adjust.” He slipped it off over his head and handed it to Martin. He looked at it for a moment before pulling it on. Tim helped him adjust his collar around it. A lump formed in his throat. He was supposed to be reminding Danny how to tie his tie for his wedding, not teaching Martin how for a funeral. He shook it off. He needed to stay strong for Martin. This day was going to be  _ awful _ for him.

Tim pulled a pack of tissues out of his pocket and handed one to Martin. Martin gave him a small smile in return.

“Thanks again for coming with me… I just… I couldn’t go alone.”

“I offered, Martin. I promise you don’t have to thank me. I’m glad to be able to help however I can. I… I know how hard this can be.”  _ Fuck, he wasn’t making this about himself, was he? _ It was hard to find a balance between sharing something about yourself to show someone they aren’t alone and making every conversation about you.

But apparently he had done fine. Martin smiled in relief and nodded.

“Okay.”

* * *

“Tim, I’m… oh god, Tim- I’m an awful person. I’m an awful son.” Martin sobbed. Tim pulled him close. They had just gotten back from the funeral, sitting on the couch in Martin’s flat, ignoring the telly. Martin had seemed relatively okay, until just now.

“What on earth would make you say that?” Tim asked incredulously. “You’re the kindest man I’ve ever met.”

“I… I’m… she…” Martin gasped. He couldn’t catch his breath.

“Okay, shh, shh. Breathe first.” Tim handed him another tissue, demonstrating some deep breaths. Martin managed some shaky echoes. “Good, good. Do you want to try again?”

“I’m… I’m not… I’m…” Martin tried. He let out a noise of frustration. “I’m glad she’s gone!” He blurted out, instantly clamping his hands over his mouth when he realized what he’d said.

It might have been an awful thing to think, but Tim had heard stories of some nightmarish parents. His own parents were pretty good, all things considered, but he no longer thought loving one’s parents to be a necessity. Martin was clearly grieving, but he could hold conflicting opinions. Parents… tended to be good about inspiring conflicting opinions.

Tim hugged him tighter.

“I… don't know a lot about your mother, but from what I gather I am sure she… wasn’t the kindest. And she was quite sick. It doesn’t make you a horrible person for feeling some relief when you don't have to worry about her anymore.”

“B-but- but…”

“It doesn’t. I don’t expect you to be able to believe me right now. You need time to process. To grieve. It’s going to hurt for a long while. And I’m so, so sorry about that. Like I’ve said a hundred times before, I’m here for you. Whatever you need. But I promise you, Martin Blackwood, you are the furthest thing from a bad person. There’s no way you were a bad son. You did your best.”

Martin only cried in response, but Tim suspected they were tears of relief rather than sadness. He hoped, anyway. It was all he could really do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF that was heavy again sorry if anythings like. inaccurate im lucky enough to not remember what grief feels like so i just. did my best. annyywayyy im gonna write some fluff later to make up for this jkgfkdhg   
> (not sure what the next chapter is gonna be yet sooo stay tuned i suppose <3)  
> can you believe this is chapter NINE


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim, Martin and Melanie are learning to cope with their new living situation.

Tim helped take care of Martin while he worked through his emotions. He thought he understood how Martin and Jon had felt taking care of him. Having someone rely on him felt really good, actually. And it made him keep on top of his health- had to put on his oxygen mask before helping others and whatnot. He watched Martin for any signs of hesitance when eating, terrified that Martin would slip into the same sort of pattern he did, but to his relief he found none.

Slowly, Martin healed. Many a night was spent in between telling each other stories about the ones they’d lost, taking comfort in their shared grief. Though nothing would really fill the void left by loss, their friendship definitely made it easier to cope. Tim realized he hadn’t really spoken about... any of it. He wasn’t in the habit of being open about himself, especially not the darker of his emotions. Even Jon didn’t know about most of it. They had been close, yes, but they didn’t talk much. Not about this kind of thing, anyway.

Tim finally got everything off his chest, everything he’d been burying so deep inside for so long and he felt a lot better about life in general. Martin appeared to be doing the same, and they both seemed a lot better off for it. The office, while still not an ideal workplace, felt lighter, somehow. Less oppressive. Less of a death sentence and more of a choice. Tim didn’t mind going in anymore. It meant he got to spend more time with Martin (and Melanie).

It was easier to handle what the world was throwing at them when they felt like life was worth living. Their new boss, the Flesh attack, moving into the tunnels- all terrifying, sure. But they had each other. They were alright.

Well, for a time. While Jon had leapt at the opportunity for company, Martin seemed less inclined to spend time with Tim. Not like Tim thought he hated him or anything- Martin just liked to be alone sometimes. Which was fine, of course. Martin didn’t owe him anything, and of course the man was due some alone time. Tim just… found himself slipping again.

It started out with breakfast. For a while, Tim and Martin took turns making meals and eating them together. It was a nice arrangement. But eventually, Martin asked if Tim could handle making his own breakfast. Of course Tim had said yes. He didn’t want to be a burden.

Then it was lunch, and then dinner, and Tim was on his own again. Most of the time. Tim, Martin, and Melanie still shared meals, but there was no rhyme or reason as to if and when they would be eating together. Tim couldn’t handle the unpredictability but he didn’t want to bring it up either. He had asked Melanie once if she wanted to organize specific days or times when they would eat dinner together, but she just said “We’ll figure it out.” 

The only thing Tim figured out was that if he expected Melanie to suggest they order dinner, he was physically incapable of making food. Even lunch was a write-off because she might want to eat earlier than usual, and then he’d either feel bad for eating twice in a short span of time or would be too worried she’d think something was off if he turned food down.

And just like that he was back to square one. It was infuriating. It was humiliating. It was... right? It felt right. He felt like he deserved it. It always seemed to end back here. At this point, he was ready to accept it as inevitable. He just couldn’t eat like a normal human being. He didn’t know how to feel like he was worth the effort. And even when he wanted to eat, half the time he couldn’t remember to or couldn’t work up the energy to make anything, so what was the difference? 

He was outraged at himself for throwing away all his effort. All of Jon’s effort, Martin’s effort, wasted.  But at the same time, he was furious with Martin for not noticing. He was _dying,_ right in front of Martin’s eyes and he just couldn’t see it. _Wouldn’t_ see it? Melanie too, but she at least hadn’t known in the first place. Martin didn’t even check in anymore. Just assumed everything was fine, Tim guessed. Or just didn’t care anymore.

That wasn’t exactly fair. Martin didn’t know what was going on. Could he have kept a closer eye, knowing Tim’s past? Sure. But Tim was a grown man; he should be able to take care of himself without outside interference. It wasn’t Martin’s fault he wasn’t able to.

That wasn’t fair, either. Tim had… a problem. He had an eating disorder. He had a mental illness. An addiction. It wasn’t his fault he kept falling victim to it, not entirely. It wasn’t something that was easy to overcome, and he knew that relapsing was an unfortunate but common part of the process. If he really wanted help, he knew he needed to ask for it. But he wasn’t ready quite yet. Someday, just not yet.

Tim still found it morbidly amusing that with everything going on he was more concerned with the amount of calories he was taking in than… anything else. His best friend had been in a coma for nearly six months? They had been attacked by horrible flesh monsters? They had narrowly avoided a mannequin apocalypse? Yes, but see, he had eaten half a packet of soup and that was disturbing on a whole new level. It was utterly ridiculous and sometimes he genuinely laughed about it. What else was he supposed to do, cry?

This was his life now, apparently. Living in the tunnels with Melanie and Martin (and sometimes Basira when she wasn’t off on a mission for Elias or Peter), trying his best to avoid food and monsters, researching any possible future apocalypses. Fun times.

He still visited Jon, though leaving the Archives was a bit dangerous so it wasn’t as often as he’d have liked. But, to be fair, there wasn’t a whole lot to see. Just Jon, lying there. Tim could see him if he closed his eyes. Thin, frail, his hair finally growing back from where it’d been singed off in the explosion. He somehow managed to look tired while in a coma. Tubes poking out of him, the steady beeping of his heart rate monitor, the smell of disinfectant. The sinking disappointment as he slowly came to terms with the possibility that Jon might not wake. The ache of loss. His whispered pleas shifting to angered muttering shifting to resigned conversation. 

He spoke to Jon as if he were awake, trying to keep him up to date on the happenings of the Institute. He knew that Jon would be pissed if he woke up and found out how much he’d missed out on. If. Tim was getting more comfortable with that word now. He knew it wasn’t a certainty and… he could live with it if Jon never woke up. Some days he thought a flatline would be a relief. No more wondering, at least. It wasn’t as if Jon was really living as he was. If he died, Tim could make his peace with it. Though of course, he still hoped more than anything else that Jon  _ would _ wake up. 

* * *

“Hey, there, Jonny-boy! How’s it going?” Tim asked as he pulled the chair round to the side of Jon’s bed. No response. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.

“Well, we’re still living in the tunnels. It’s not bad, though the air mattresses leave something to be desired. I suggested trying to get real beds down there but Basira thought it’d draw too much attention to ourselves. And they wouldn’t fit in my car, anyway. So. Fair enough, I suppose.

“What else is new? Not much. Still miss you.” Tim lightly hit Jon’s arm. No response. “Elias is still being a creep… probably? I haven’t gone to see him. As much as I’d love to see the pathetic man in a cage, I’m enjoying the time away from him. Basira has been seeing him, I think. I told you last time about how weird she’s been lately. Not much has changed there.

“I mean-weird is kind of harsh, her partner died. You know what I mean.

“How am I doing? It’s…” Tim chuckled, his voice betraying his exhaustion. “It’s a lot. I think we’ll save that one for when you can ask me specific questions. Maybe use your eye powers to make it easier to spill my guts.

“Though… maybe if you knew… would you wake up?” Tim shook his head. “No, no. That’s not fair to you. It’s been six months. We were attacked by the Flesh. Martin and I both have cried at your bedside enough times. If you were going to wake up because of us, well, that time has long since past. I think you’ve gotta get out of this one on your own.” Tim patted his hand.

“Well, Sleeping Beauty, I think that’s about it. Not as much to chat about this time. I’m gonna get you new flowers next time I’m round. I’m meeting Melanie for lunch.” Tim got to his feet, wavering a bit. He was a bit lightheaded; “lunch” was really going to be breakfast. And he’d only eaten a sandwich the day before. He blinked for a second, waiting for it to clear. He fixed his jacket around himself and put the chair back.

“See you later.” Tim gave Jon a little wave and headed out the door.

“Hey!-” He almost walked right into someone.

“Oh, sorry, Georgie.”

“That’s alright, I wasn’t watching where I was walking either.” She chuckled and stepped out of his way so he could pass.

“Thanks.” Tim walked down the hall, paying more attention to his surroundings this time. As he walked by the front desk, he couldn’t help giving the man standing there a once over. He was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. Long dreads, a couple dyed white. Lots of jewelry, chains and earrings and necklaces, mostly silver. Very goth. Very attractive. Tim smiled to himself as he walked out the door.

* * *

Melanie had changed her mind, apparently. She wanted to make lunch instead of buying it. Tim didn’t mind saving the money, but he did wish she would’ve told him that sooner. He was ready to eat, but now he was going to have to wait for her to make food. She’d been a little on edge lately, though, so he didn’t want to say anything about it. 

“We should probably get some groceries, huh?” Melanie called from their makeshift pantry.

“Yeah, probably.” Tim replied. He wanted to ask them to wait to buy groceries until he’d regained his willpower, but there was no way to do so without consequences. At best, they’d be concerned. At worst? They’d try to make him eat. He couldn’t deal with that just yet. And besides, he wasn’t sure how long it would be before he wanted to eat again. He’d have to play along for now, pretend everything was okay.

“Do you wanna go now?” Melanie asked, poking her head out of the tunnel.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Martin?” Tim asked before he could stop himself. On one hand, it would be easier to hide his eating disorder without someone who knew to watch out for it. On the other, perhaps he could muster up the desire to eat again by the time they were all free to shop together.

“Maybe, but I’m craving some biscuits and we don't have any in store.” Melanie smirked. Tim chuckled.

“Fair. Yeah, I’ll grab my keys.” Tim got to his feet and brushed himself off. He should have reminded her that she was supposed to be making lunch but... he could wait.

* * *

Tim offered to push the trolley. He wanted something to keep his hands busy to avoid fidgeting with his ring, hoping to hide his anxiety. If Melanie had taken one good look at Tim it would be impossible to miss the way his eyes flitted to the ground and ceiling to avoid looking at the food on the shelves, his forced smile, his white knuckle grip on the handle. But, luckily or not, she was too preoccupied with their task to notice.

“Do we need any more bread?” Melanie asked. Neither Melanie nor Martin were big fans of sandwiches; Tim was typically the only person to eat bread. She was asking if  _ Tim _ needed bread. Tim was nauseous at the thought of it.

“Uh… we still have a few slices left.”

“Okay, and what do we do when those few slices run out?” Melanie asked, rolling her eyes. “I’ll go grab some.”

Tim wanted so desperately to stop her but what could he say? He just watched her leave, mentally preparing himself to toss out the whole loaf when it inevitably got moldy.

“I was gone for three seconds and you zoned out already?” Melanie laughed. Tim jumped. He supposed he had. Hadn’t heard her walk up either. The music in his earbuds was too loud. He’d hoped it would ease his anxiety a bit; it was working, to some extent. He wasn’t having a full blown anxiety attack. Yet.

“God, yeah, guess I did.” Tim chuckled anxiously. “Do we need anything else?” He asked, wanting to change the subject.

‘No, I think we’re good. Unless you want anything.”

“No, I’m good to go.”

“Alright.” 

* * *

While they were checking out, Melanie’s phone rang. Tim waved her off to take the call. She could pay him back. He glanced over at her a few steps away while the cashier rang up the last few items. Her jaw dropped. In their line of work? That could mean  _ anything _ .  _ Hurry up hurry up hurry up- _

“Your total is-”

“Great, debit?”

“Uh, yeah, go ahead.”

Tim couldn’t finish the transaction fast enough.

“Receipts in the-”

“Thanks!” Tim grabbed the bag and rushed over to Melanie. “What, what was that?”

“Jon.”

Tim’s stomach dropped. No… he.. He couldn’t be…

“He woke up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cue suspensful music*  
> we love a good cliffhanger >:)


	11. Chapter 11

Tim was trying his hardest to avoid speeding or crashing, muttering to himself the whole way to the hospital. His mutterings were interspersed with questions to Melanie.

“ _ -cut me off-okay bastard get out of my goddam-oh and now you’re going to slow down okay I see how it- _ That’s all she said? That he woke up?”

“Yeah, I mean… what else was there to say? She called Martin-”

“ _ Fucker I’m going to get out and key your- oh okay so you were turning wow it would be cool if there were some way to indicate that-  _ Martin first? Not her girlfriend?”  _ Not me? _

“Well, she uh-”

“ _ Go faster go faster go faster- _ ‘she uh’ what?”

“She did call me, we were just on our way out the door and I figured she’d call back if it was serious.”

Tim stopped muttering and looked at Melanie.

“ _ She what?! _ ”

“I’m sorry! How was I supposed to know a man had woken from a six month coma?!”

* * *

They continued their squabbling all the way to the hospital. Tim clenched and unclenched his fists while they walked up to Jon’s room, barely restraining himself from sprinting. As it was, Melanie was half-jogging to keep up.

They turned the corner and- there he was. Sitting up in bed, looking… remarkably okay. There was an open file sitting on the bed beside him.  _ Ah _ . He turned to see who was at the door and his whole face broke into a smile. Tim had to bite back tears.  _ He was okay _ .

Melanie was breathing heavy beside him. Tim tore his eyes away from Jon- was she crying? No, that was _ not  _ joy on her face.

“How are you awake?” She snapped. “What the  _ fuck  _ are you?”

“I-I’m me?” Jon stammered, smile quickly fading. 

“Melanie’s right. How do we know you  _ are _ you?” Basira asked. Tim had forgotten there

were other people in the room. Basira, Georgie and Martin were standing on the other side of Jon’s bed, all of them staring at Jon.

“I- I just am? I don’t know how to explain it, exactly. I had to… make a choice to come back. I think I’m more connected to the Eye now, but I’m still… in control of my actions. I’m as much me as I ever was.”

“Same could be said about Elias. Or any of those other freaks.” Melanie spat. “Why should we believe you’re just fine? What kind of _ choice  _ did you make? What makes you different from any of them? I-” She was yelling now, almost in tears. Tim readied himself to hold her back, she looked ready to pounce.

“Just stay the _ fuck _ away from me.” She whipped around and stormed off. The rest stared blankly after her. 

“I’m gonna…” Georgie muttered, following after her. “Melanie!”

“Well, that was…” Martin started.

“A lot.” Tim finished.

“She’s right though.” Basira cut in.

“What?”

“Where’s the line? How do we know you’re not one of them?”

“I- I don’t…” Jon shook his head, searching for words.

“Can he just breathe for a minute?” Martin asked in disbelief. “He just woke up!”

“Yeah,  _ Christ _ . We can deal with this later. How are you feeling, Jon?” Tim turned back to him. 

“Um. Disoriented.” Jon laughed awkwardly. “Six months, huh?”

The other three nodded. Before anyone could really respond, a nurse knocked on the door behind Tim.

“Excuse me, we have to run some tests. I’m going to have to ask you all to step into the waiting room for a bit.”

* * *

The tests took a few hours. Basira left just after they were kicked out, simply saying she had “things to take care of.” Martin and Tim bounced between the waiting room, the vending machine, and Jon’s room, with a quick stop off at Georgie’s for some clothes. They caught him up as best they could between tests. Tim texted Melanie to check in on how she was doing.

_ I might have overreacted. _

_ Might have? _

_ Shut up. I just… seeing him felt… wrong. He shouldn’t be awake. _

_ You’d want to lose another person? Wasn’t Daisy enough? _

_ That’s not what I meant and you know it. _

_ … Yeah. _

_ Anyway. I’m gonna stay with Georgie for a bit, if I can. First sign of danger I’m moving back into the tunnels but… hopefully it’ll be okay. _

_ Alright. See you at work, I guess. _

_ Yeah, see you. _

The doctors were baffled, but could find nothing wrong with Jon. They sent him home with Tim and Martin, warning them to keep an eye on him and call his GP to get him another check-up as soon as possible.

* * *

It was hard for Tim to keep his eyes on the road when Jon was sitting in the passenger seat, fidgeting with the hem of the cropped jumper Georgie had supplied.

“We’ll get you some new clothes soon.” Tim said.

“I sure hope so.” Jon muttered.

“What, ex-girlfriend’s merch not your style?” He teased.

Jon just glared at him in response.  _ God _ , Tim had missed that glare.

“We did have to get some groceries, anyway. We could stop now, if you wanted.” Martin offered.

“Oh, Melanie and I got some stuff before we got the call. We don’t need groceries. We can still stop, though.” Tim glanced at Jon.

“I…” He was considering. “I think I’d rather rest for a bit. -yes, Tim, I know I just got enough rest to last a lifetime. I also got enough  _ information _ to tire me out again,” Jon cut him off before he could retort. Tim grinned.

“Alright. Home it is.”

* * *

“We need another air mattress.” Martin groaned as they entered the tunnels.

“Damn…” Tim sighed.

“Oh, it’s… I don't want to trouble you…” Jon shook his head.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll go get one. Keys?” Martin held out his hand. Tim tossed them to him.

“Thank you.” 

“No problem.”

* * *

Tim dumped his jacket on the office chair designating the entrance to their living space and stepped over to the suitcase he was living out of, pulling on a jumper. He couldn’t tell if the tunnels were chilly or if the drink he’d bought from the vending machine at the hospital simply didn’t have enough calories for him to keep his body warm. Probably both. He was praying Jon wouldn’t ask about his eating. As much as he’d hoped Jon would wake up and snap him out of it… he wasn’t ready. He didn’t think he could handle the conversation yet.

Tim sat across from Jon in one of the chairs they’d brought down. Jon looked like he wanted to say something but he’d been silent since they’d entered the tunnels. Tim didn’t want to ask. He simply sat and waited.

Tim moved his hand to the arm rest. His ring slipped from his finger and hit the ground with a metallic chime. His stomach dropped with it. The sound filled the tunnel as the ring wobbled and finally came to a stop. Tim felt all the blood drain from his face.

“I knew it.” Jon muttered.

Tim thought he was going to be sick.

“Knew what?” he snapped. He grabbed the ring off the ground and crammed it into his pocket. “You don’t know _ shit  _ about me because you’ve been in a coma for  _ six months _ .” Tim didn’t know what he was doing but he couldn’t stop. He needed to push Jon away. He couldn’t handle this. He couldn’t have Jon worrying about him again. He was just going to fuck up again and make it worse. He was a broken record and Jon didn’t need to listen to it.

He got to his feet.  _ Where was he going?  _ He had to get out.

“Just… fuck off.” Tim stormed off down the tunnel.  _ God, he was acting like a teenager. _ He took the first turn he found and kept going. This was dangerous and stupid. He knew the tunnels pretty well but he wasn’t keeping very good track of the turns he was taking or the direction he was going. He just needed to get  _ out. _

“Tim!” 

He heard footsteps behind him. He moved faster. 

“Tim!” 

Tim screamed in frustration and whipped around.

“ _ What?! _ ”

Jon caught up, panting heavily.

“Last time- we had a conversation- like this-” he huffed. “You flung yourself- down a flight- of stairs. I need you- to calm down- for a minute.”

Tim hadn’t realized how hard he was breathing until he stopped, gasping to catch his breath. How fast had he been going? He was still fuming. He didn’t want to say anything to Jon. He shook out his hands, trying to stim out some of his energy. He couldn’t punch through the tunnel walls, he’d just end up breaking his fist.

“Yes, yes, good. Stim like that.”

“W-what?” Tim stammered, taken aback at Jon’s use of the term.

“Stimming. It’s wh-”

“No, I- I know what stimming is. I forgot you…”

“Yeah, ADHD, anxiety, probably some other stuff I didn’t bother to get diagnosed.” Jon shrugged. “You? I mean, if you want-”

“Yeah, no, I’ve got ADHD too. We… we’ve talked about this.” He had forgotten what it was like to have someone who knew ADHD so well. Martin was sympathetic, but he didn’t really  _ get _ it.

Tim realized that in his confusion he had forgotten to be mad at Jon. They were both breathing normally again. Tim let his hands come to rest by his side. They stood and looked at each other for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Tim.” Jon said, breaking the silence at last.

“For what?”

“I… I don’t know. Everything? I feel responsible for…” Jon gestured vaguely at the tunnels and then at Tim. “All of this.” He stared down at Tim’s ring. “That used to fit you.”

Tim winced. He had always been afraid someone would notice it, but he had come to the conclusion that no one cared enough to. It hurt more than he thought it would.

“Not always.”

“No, and the last time it didn’t, I offered you help.”

Tim looked at Jon. He wasn’t looking at Tim with pity but with concern. Tim appreciated that, at least.

“I don't know if that was an  _ offer _ last time, felt a bit more like blackmail.” Tim teased to lighten the mood. Jon’s sigh turned into a chuckle.

“Fair. Well, I’m not going to blackmail you, but I really would like to help.”

Tim opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t decide on a response. He didn’t want to disappoint Jon, but he wasn’t sure he was ready yet.

“I… I don’t know if I can.”

Jon thought for a moment.

“Okay. I respect that. I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.” He paused. “But… I… can you try? For me?”

Tim was pretty sure he felt his heart shatter. The pleading look on Jon’s face… and Jon said he wasn’t going to blackmail him. What a liar.

“I don’t know. M-maybe.”

“We can start off small. 2 or 3 small meals instead of 5? I can make them for you, if you think it’d help. Or we can make them together if you’d prefer, seeing as I’m going to have to move down here.”

Tim nodded slowly. 

“I can try.”

“Thank you.” Jon looked very pleased. Tim let out a breath of relief he hadn’t known he’d been holding in.

“Yeah. Making food together would be nice, actually. There were quite a few things you made I meant to ask you for the recipes of. You’re quite the cook.”

“Oh!” Jon laughed bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, thank you. My grandmother taught me. I’d be happy to pass on the knowledge.” 

Tim returned his smile. He gestured towards the tunnel behind Jon.

“Shall we?”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dress up, amongst other things.

Tim rolled over onto his stomach (much to the chagrin of the air mattress), balling his hands into fists and shoving them between his stomach and the bed, hoping to somehow dull the ache. He was pretty sure he had the explanation for his “inexplicable insomnia” but he just couldn’t bring himself to test it. He’d eat breakfast with Jon in the morning. He didn’t need anything just yet. And besides, there were plenty of reasons a man would have trouble sleeping. Excitement at his best friend waking up from a coma, perhaps? Anxiety about his best friend returning to his role as Tim’s therapist and nutritionist? Just regular old insomnia? Any one of those could be the cause.

He’d tried pretty much everything though. Soft music, a podcast or two, reading, more exercise during the day, less caffeine, hell tonight he’d even tried counting sheep. Nothing was helping. The answer was, most likely, that his body was screaming at him to get food to ensure he’d actually wake up the next morning. It was easiest to ignore this answer. If he ate, he’d feel obligated to burn off the calories but if he exercised it’d wake him up further and then he’d  _ never  _ fall asleep. Better to just lie and rest than get up and eat. Hell of a lot easier, too.

So he tossed and turned, trying to ignore the feeling in his stomach, to ignore how dizzy he got from just rolling over. He’d eaten! Dinner, anyway. Dinner was enough. It should be. He’d have another meal tomorrow. Two, if Jon had anything to say about it- and Tim suspected he would.

Tim heard a noise from down the tunnel. It was technically morning but it was  _ way _ too early for anyone to be getting up yet. If some fucked-up monster was lurking down here-

“Can’t sleep?” A familiar voice asked. Oh. it was _ his _ fucked-up monster.

“Nah.” Tim sighed, sitting up and making room for Jon. “Even with all that practice, huh?” he teased. 

Jon sat beside him, echoing his sigh.

“Even so.”

They sat in silence for a bit. 

“Do you, uh…” Jon started. “Do you remember the last night before…”

“Yeah? Of course I do.” Tim laughed softly.

“Right, right. Dumb question.”

“Daft.” Tim agreed. He paused. “Why?”

“Aside from your little  _ fall _ , that was probably the best night’s sleep I got...ever?”

“Really?” Tim asked. He couldn’t think of anything witty to say. Too tired, too heart-fluttery. In a good way.

“Yeah.” Jon nodded. “Coma included.” He chuckled.

“Quite the honour. Ah-are you asking-”

“-I mean, just bringing my air mattress in here would be fine I just… don’t like being alone.” 

“Yeah, this bed is pretty small.” Tim nodded. “For one night, though… if you wanted…”

“I-I uh, yeah! Sure!” 

If Tim didn't know better, he would’ve labelled that an eager reply. He shifted so he was lying on his side facing Jon, leaving as much room as he could without teetering dangerously on the edge of the mattress.

Jon followed his lead, his arms curled around himself. They had managed to leave a tiny gap between themselves that Tim was itching to close. Neither of them closed their eyes, Jon staring blankly down at Tim’s chest, Tim studying Jon’s face.

Jon looked more gaunt than he had before the coma. It wasn’t anything unusual for Jon; he apparently had been almost as bad about eating as Tim had. Tim didn’t think it was deliberate on Jon’s part, though. He hoped not. Tim wanted to see him fill back out again, to look healthy- like he was thriving, not just surviving. If that meant he had to eat in exchange for it? He thought he might be able to manage.

Bit by bit, their blinks got slower, their eyelids drooped, their breathing deepened. Jon was the first to drift off, his eyes not quite closed. It was a bit eerie, but Tim didn’t want to wake him over something so trivial. In his sleep, Jon shifted closer, tucking his head under Tim’s chin and curling up against his chest. Tim smiled, draping an arm over him. He had missed this. Maybe he’d pop Jon’s mattress so they had to do this every night. He held in a laugh, not wanting to wake Jon. Back in Research, they’d had quite a few late nights at the pub where Jon was more tolerable of Tim’s touchy nature, letting him lean on his shoulder or throw his legs across his lap. Since they’d grown apart, they’d barely touched (aside from that last night). Tim hoped this marked the beginning of a new era. With that lovely thought, he fell asleep.

* * *

“Well, here goes nothing.” Tim scrolled through his contacts until he found Melanie’s name. He clicked on the  _ call _ button and crossed his fingers.

“Hey, Melanie.” Tim dragged out the end of her name playfully.

“What is it? You sound like you want something…” she sounded suspicious.

“So, uh. I’m a tall man.

“Uh...huh…”

“And Martin’s also a tall man…”

“Get on with it,”

“And you see… one of our coworkers is… not a tall man.”

“Are you asking if Jon can borrow my clothes?” 

“... Depends on your answer.”

Melanie was silent for a moment.

“H-hello-?”

“Yeah, I’m thinking.” 

Tim waited.

“Fine, but I have some stipulations.”

“Of course. Thanks so-”

“He’s only allowed to wear the stuff that is very visibly from Hot Topic. If he looks like a respectable adult when he’s dressed, I’m rescinding my permission.”

“Melanie?”

“Hm?”

“You’re the only bitch I respect in this damn Archive.”

Tim could hear her laughing through the phone. 

“Why, thank you. I’ve got a suitcase of clean clothes under my cot.”

“Thank you.” Tim dragged out the “u”.

“You’re welcome. I expect pictures.”

“Of course.”

“Georgie and I were just about to step out, so…”

“Oh, yeah- Talk to you later!”

“Later.”

Tim put his phone back in his pocket and grinned. He stepped back into the other tunnel, clapping his hands together.

“Good news and bad news, boss.” 

* * *

They piled all the clothes onto Jon’s air mattress. Martin had a few jumpers to offer and Tim some flannel shirts, but, unfortunately for Jon, Melanie was  _ much _ closer to his size. They had a nice range of clothes from her, though of course everything was a little more emo than Jon would prefer.

“God, I feel like I’m back in university.” Jon groaned as he pawed through his options. He held up a short red and black plaid skirt. 

“Yes.” Tim blurted out.

“Yeah, you have to.” Martin nodded in agreement.

Jon glared at them, but he set the skirt to one side and sighed.

“With what top?”

Tim’s hand shot towards a distressed band tee, Martin for a cropped black button-up. They looked at each other.

“Both?” Tim asked, adding a red tie to the button-up.

“I’m not a  _ doll _ .” Jon grumbled.

“Oh come on, let us play dress up just this once.” Tim laughed.

“It’s only fair.”

“How is it fair?!”

“We missed out on 6 months of outfits from you! Gotta catch up.”

“That’s ridiculous... I cannot believe I’m about to agree to thi-”

“You’re agreeing to it!” Tim and Martin cried in unison. Tim clapped his hands and pulled Jon to his feet, shoving him towards a tunnel they’d blocked off with a curtain to function as a makeshift dressing room.

“We’ll pass you things. Start with these.” He handed Jon the outfits they’d picked out. Tim and Martin got to work putting together more combinations, whispering between themselves.

“I can hear you giggling out there. I’m frightened.” Jon said flatly.

They whipped around at the sound of Jon stepping out from behind the curtain. He’d gone for the band tee first, having tucked it into the waistband of the skirt. He held his hands out in a resigned flourish.

“You look so good!” Martin gasped.

“Incredible!” Tim agreed.

Jon rolled his eyes, failing to hide his smile.

“I… uh... do like this skirt, actually.”

“Oh my god, are we finally going to rid you of the earth tones?” Tim teased.

“Absolutely not. Between the three of you there’s barely a green to be seen, however, so I’m trying to make do.”

“Well there’s this…” Martin said, holding up a neon green cropped jumper.

“ _ No _ .”

“Okay, okay. Go put the other shirt on. As much as I love looking at you in that outfit, we’ve got a lot more to try.” Tim waved him off. 

Jon obligingly shuffled back behind the curtain.

“This would be a lot easier if I had a mirror back here.” Jon called from behind the curtain.

“I mean we could go up to the Institute bathroom if you’d pre-”

“No, no this will do. Just-” He pulled the curtain aside. “Help me fix my tie?”

He looked good in the other outfit but  _ damn _ . The sliver of skin peeking out between the bottom of the shirt and the waistband of the skirt made Tim feel like a renaissance man seeing a hint of ankle. Tim pushed himself to his feet and stepped over to Jon, adjusting the collar over the tie where it had gotten caught. Jon let his hands fall to his side, watching Tim as he adjusted it. Tim prayed he couldn’t see his cheeks flushing. He stepped back to take a proper look.

“Stunning.”

“Truly.”

* * *

The morning continued on in a similar fashion; Tim and Martin passing Jon outfits to try on, Jon trying and failing to hide the fact that he liked them, Tim losing his breath every time Jon stepped out somehow looking more attractive. He was finding it hard to not be jealous of how good everything looked on Jon. Even the baggiest clothes draped so perfectly over his thin frame. That was probably why, huh? He was thin. Thinner than Tim would ever be. Tim was glad Jon had forgotten to make him eat breakfast again, didn’t think he could stomach it.

* * *

“I think we’ve exhausted our options.” Jon said at last.

“Unfortunately, I think you’re right.” Tim sighed.

“Well, you seemed to like quite a bit, so that’s good at least.”

“That’s true. Thank you both for your help.”

“Anytime.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Martin checked his watch. “Oh, it’s about lunch time, huh?”

Panic flooded through Tim’s body. He swallowed, trying to subtly take a deep breath. He nodded, trying to keep a neutral expression.

“I was going to order pizza, that alright with you two?” Martin asked, completely oblivious to Tim’s terror.

Jon looked at Tim. Tim couldn’t quite tell what Jon was thinking. It was clear he was waiting for Tim to answer first, though.

“Er- yeah. Sounds good.” He choked out, smiling.

“Fine by me.” Jon replied.

“Be right back. Loo.” Tim said, getting to his feet. He headed up to the Institute, trying to remember how to breathe, mentally talking himself through it. It was breakfast, he hadn’t eaten anything yet. He could manage a slice or two. He was going to be fine. His phone buzzed. Jon.

_ You alright? _

_ Yeah. _

_ Are you sure? _

_ … _

_ That’s what I thought. I won’t say anything to Martin. _

_ Thanks. _

_ Of course. Do you want me to suggest something else? Is pizza too much right now? _

_ I… think I should be okay. _

_ Alright, if you’re sure. _

_ I’m not sure but I’ll try. _

_ Okay. I’m proud of you! _

Tim stopped in his tracks and stared at the message. His head was bursting with a  _ wide _ array of emotions. Elation that Jon was proud of him. Guilt that Jon  _ had  _ to be proud of something so small in the first place. Fear of all of those carbs, all that sodium. Anger that he couldn’t enjoy something as simple as a slice of pizza.

He shook his head to clear it and continued on up to use the bathroom. Might as well while he’s up there.

* * *

Tim refused to look at himself in the mirror while he washed his hands. If he did, he’d never be able to work up the nerve to eat. He’d simply pretend he looked like Jon did and ignore any evidence to the contrary. That would have to suffice for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one took so long! i was on a drawing kick and didnt feel like writing too much. also not entirely sure where to go from here lmao (i do have some vague development ideas but we'll have to see what happensss)  
> also i feel bad about tim calling melanie a bitch gjhfkkjg that was meant with 10000% affection and its only because she also calls him a bitch that is a mutual term of endearment no misogyny here prommy

**Author's Note:**

> title is a Will Wood And The Tapeworms song 10/10 would recommend


End file.
